MODERN  POETS 

<ATSfD   *  <§>  <£  # 

CHRISTIAN 
TEACH  TOG 


GILDED 

MAFtKHAM 

SILL 


DAVID  G. DOWNEY 


i 


MODERN  POETS 

AND 

CHRISTIAN  TEACHING 


RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

EDWIN  MARKHAM 
EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 


BY 

DAVID  G.  DOWNEY 


NEW  YORK:    EATON  &  MAINS 
CINCINNATI:   JENNINGS  &  GRAHAM 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
EATON  &  MAINS. 


ps 
'•« 

i 

rf 

• 


TO 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

TO 

EDWIN  MARKHAM 

AND  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

WHOSE  WRITINGS   HAVE  BEEN  AN  INSPIRATION 
TO  ME  IN  MY  PERSONAL  LIFE  AND  IN  MY 
MINISTRY  AS  A  PREACHER  OF  THE 
GOOD  NEWS  OF  JESUS  CHRIST, 
THIS    BOOK    IS    AFFEC 
TIONATELY    DED 
ICATED. 


k> 

j  t-*f-j  t-j  i 


CONTENTS 


Foreword :  The  Poet  and  the  Preacher I 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER. 

Biographical  Sketch 9 

The  Man  and  His  Message 15 

The  Influence  of  Christian  Thought  Illustrated 34 

EDWIN  MARKHAM. 

Biographical  Sketch 79 

Markham's  Message 84 

The  Influence  of  Christian  Thought  Illustrated 96 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 

The  Man 137 

The  Nature  and  Quality  of  His  Writing 141 

Illustration  of  Christian  Influence 156 

Afterword:  The  Supremacy  of  the  Spiritual 181 


PORTRAITS 

Richard  Watson  Gilder Frontispiece 

Edwin  Markham Facing  page  77 

Edward  Rowland  Sill Facing  page  135 


Friends,  beware! 

A  keen,  new  sound  is  in  the  air, — 
Know  ye  a  poet's  coming  is  the  old  world's 
judgment  day ! 

— Richard  Watson  Gilder. 


f  UNIX- 


FOREWORD 

THE  POET  AND  THE  PREACHER 

THE  poet  and  the  preacher  have  much  in  com 
mon.  They  deal,  in  many  instances,  with  the 
same  subject-matter.  "My  stress  lay  on  the  in 
cidents  in  the  development  of  a  Soul;  little  else  is 
worthy  of  thought."  So  said  Browning.  And 
what  else  is  it  that  the  preacher  should  busy  him 
self  with  ?  Not  only  is  the  material  to  be  handled 
and  molded  common  to  both,  but  also  the  spirit 
that  makes  for  fit  handling,  for  right  development, 
is  found  alike  in  poets  and  preachers  of  the  highest 
order.  Every  poet  is  a  dreamer,  a  seer,  a  visionist. 
So  also  is  the  preacher;  indeed,  in  proportion  as 
he  has  the  power  to  dream  dreams  and  to  see 
visions  is  he  the  preacher  of  power  and  inspira 
tion.  What  marvelous  preaching  there  was  on 
Pentecost — not  only  by  Peter  but  by  those  asso 
ciated  with  him.  And  the  explanation  is  given: 
"This  is  that  which  was  spoken  by  the  prophet 
Joel:  Your  sons  and  your  daughters  shall 
prophesy,  and  your  young  men  shall  see  visions, 
and  your  old  men  shall  dream  dreams."  When 
Arthur  O'Shaughnessy  says: 

We  are  the  music  makers, 

And  we  are  the  dreamers  of  dreami, 
i 


2  THE  POET  AND  THE  PREACHER 

Wandering  by  lone  sea  breakers, 
And  sitting  by  desolate  streams ; 

World  losers  and  world  forsakers, 

On  whom  the  pale  moon  gleams; 
Yet  we  are  the  movers  and  shakers 

Of  the  world  forever,  it  seems. 

One  man  with  a  dream,  at  pleasure, 
Shall  go  forth  and  conquer  a  crown; 

And  three  with  a  new  song's  measure 
Can  trample  a  kingdom  down, 

he  is  depicting  the  true  preacher  as  well  as  the 
genuine  poet. 

This  power  of  vision,  common  alike  to  poet  and 
preacher,  is  simply  the  ability  to  perceive  the  ideal. 
And  the  ideal,  again,  is  life  at  its  richest  and  best. 
The  business  of  the  preacher  is  to  call  out  and 
develop  this  highest  and  best  possibility.  He 
must  be  able  to  see  it  in  the  last  and  lowest 
man.  The  touch  of  vision  must  be  upon  him,  so 
that  with  Emerson  he  will  know  that 

Tis  not  in  the  high  stars  alone, 
Nor  in  the  cups  of  budding  flowers, 

Nor  in  the  redbreast's  mellow  tone, 
Nor  in  the  bow  that  smiles  in  showers, 

But  in  the  mud  and  scum  of  things 

There  alway,  alway  something  sings. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  this  ability  or 
faculty  is  the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  mighty 
preachers.  David  is  surely  a  preacher  of  God's 


THE  POET  AND  THE  PREACHER  3 

righteousness,  providential  care,  and  Fatherly 
comfort.  And  he  is  all  this,  and  all  this  so  deeply 
and  genuinely,  so  feelingly  and  universally,  be 
cause  he  has  the  gift  of  inner  spiritual  vision. 
The  best  things  in  Isaiah  are  those  parts  of  his 
message  that  glow  and  burn  with  the  swift  vision 
and  the  incisive  touch  of  the  dreamer  and  seer. 
Jesus  is  the  supreme  visionist;  no  one  without  this 
power  could  have  weighed  and  balanced  the  imma 
terial  and  material  worlds  in  his  thought,  and 
expressed  the  result  in  a  sentence  that  has  stood 
the  test  of  two  thousand  years,  and  will  stand  till 
the  end  of  time:  "What  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if 
he  shall  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own 
soul  ?"  That  is  the  eternal  and  eternally  true 
comparison.  And  it  is  so  because  it  is  not  the 
result  of  logic,  but  the  swift  and  sure  deduction 
of  a  vision  that  penetrates  to  the  depths,  and  in 
terprets  with  infallible  certainty  the  very  heart 
and  life  of  things.  Paul  is  mighty  as  a  debater, 
and  as  a  forceful  preacher  of  doctrine;  but  will  any 
one  deny  that  the  finest  utterances  of  Paul  are  found 
in  those  passages  that  glow  and  burn  with  the 
vision  and  insight  of  the  poet  ?  "Though  I  speak 
with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  but  have 
not  love,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass,  or  a 
tinkling  cymbal."  Nothing  that  Paul  ever 
wrote  has  more  of  eternal  truth  and  abidingness 


4  THE  POET  AND  THE  PREACHER 

than  this,  that  Dean    Stanley  calls    "a  hymn  in 
praise  of  Divine  Love." 

Who  will  say  that  there  is  not  as  much  vigorous 
and  vital  theology  in  the  hymns  of  Charles  Wesley, 
Isaac  Watts,  and  Ray  Palmer  as  in  the  sermons 
of  John  Wesley,  Jonathan  Edwards,  and  Phillips 
Brooks  ?  It  is  not  alone  the  logician  who  con 
vinces  and  wins;  often  the  singer  and  the  seer,  who 
outlines,  and  suggests,  and  reveals,  is  quite  as 
powerful  an  influence.  The  true  poet,  then,  when 
he  touches  the  great  questions  of  life,  becomes 
unconsciously  a  theologian.  Some  of  the  best 
theology — the  most  truly  biblical,!  mean — is  found 
imbedded,  as  gold  or  diamonds  in  precious  soil, 
in  the  stanzas  of  the  poets.  Professor  Winchester 
says:  "Such  a  work  as  the  In  Memoriam,  a  hun 
dred  years  hence,  will  be  accounted  a  truer  picture 
of  the  vital  thought  at  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century  than  all  our  formal  philosophies  and  theolo 
gies  put  together."  And  Professor  Olin  A.  Curtis, 
in  his  book  of  theology,  The  Christian  Faith,  tells 
us  that  "in  the  poetry  of  Robert  Browning  one 
can  come  closer  to  the  whole  reality  of  human  life 
than  he  can  in  any  scientific  treatise  published  in 
the  last  hundred  years."  The  poets  of  whom  we 
are  thinking  speak  because  they  have  a  message; 
like  as  in  the  prophet  of  old,  it  is  a  fire  in  the 
bones  that  must  burst  into  flame.  And  just  here 


THE  POET  AND  THE  PREACHER  5 

is  the  poet's  value  to  the  preacher;  dealing  with 
the  same  subject-matter,  imbued  with  the  same 
interpreting  spirit  or  quality,  controlled  with  the 
same  high  sense  of  duty  and  mission  that  ought 
to  control  every  preacher,  he  utters  his  message  in 
forms  of  abiding  beauty  and  power,  puts  his 
bugle  to  his  lips  and  scatters  "a  divine  contagion 
on  mankind." 

This  little  volume  is  an  attempt  to  interpret  some 
of  the  poets  of  our  day;  to  show  how  their  thoughts, 
consciously  or  unconsciously,  have  been  molded 
and  influenced  by  the  great  body  of  Christian 
truth  that  has  filtered  through  the  ages;  to  make 
clear  what  may  be  the  special  message  of  these 
poets  to  our  own  time;  to  estimate  the  spiritual 
value  of  this  message,  and  to  illustrate  all  this  by 
appropriate  selections  from  their  published  poems. 


RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 


Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart  :    for   they  shall  see  God. 
-Jesus. 

Keep  pure  thy  soul  ! 

Then  shalt  thou  take  the  whole 

Of  delight; 

Then,  without  a  pang, 

Thine  shall  be  all  of  beauty  whereof  the  poet  sang — 

The  perfume,  and  the  pageant,  the  melody,  the  mirth 

Of  the  golden  day  and  the  starry  night; 

Of  heaven,  and  of  earth. 

Oh,  keep  pure  thy  soul ! — Gilder. 


UNIVERSITY 

•   F 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

ANYONE  fairly  familiar  with  Methodist  history 
and  literature  would  naturally  surmise  that  a  boy 
baptized  into  the  name  of  the  author  of  Watson's 
Institutes  must  have  had  a  strong  and  sturdy 
Methodist  ancestry.  In  the  case  of  Richard 
Watson  Gilder  this  surmise  would  be  found  cor 
rect.  His  paternal  grandfather,  John  Gilder,  was 
a  member  of  the  State  Legislature  and  of  the 
Board  of  Councilmen  of  Philadelphia  in  the  days 
when  membership  in  such  a  board  indicated  integ 
rity,  mental  and  moral.  This  John  Gilder  was  a 
man  of  independent  thought  and  progressive  spirit, 
as  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  the  records 
show  him  as  advocating  and  pushing  to  a  successful 
issue  the  proposition  to  introduce  illuminating 
gas  into  the  homes  of  Philadelphia;  this,  too,  in 
spite  of  a  very  strenuous  opposition,  based,  among 
other  objections,  on  the  argument  that  such  intro 
duction  would  be  extremely  hazardous,  and  would 
seriously  endanger  the  lives  and  properties  of  the 
citizens.  That  he  was  a  man  held  in  high  repute 
by  his  fellow  citizens  is  evident  from  the  fact  that 
he  was  president  of  the  Board  of  Builders  of  Girard 
College,  and  laid  the  corner  stone  of  that  highly 
distinguished  institution.  Also  he  was  a  gen- 

2  9 


io  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

uinely  religious  man,  a  class  leader  in  the 
Methodist  Church  in  the  days  when  men  of 
probity  and  clear  brain,  occupying  this  position, 
did  so  much  to  strengthen  and  develop  the  in 
tellectual  and  spiritual  life  of  the  Methodist  type 
of  Christianity. 

Philadelphia,  in  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
was  one  of  the  strongholds — numerically,  finan 
cially,  and  spiritually — of  American  Methodism; 
a  glory  that  has  not  yet  wholly  departed.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  with  such  a  parentage  and  such  an 
environment  two  sons  of  John  Gilder,  John  L.  and 
William  Henry,  should  have  joined  the  ranks  of 
the  itinerant  Methodist  ministry.  The  latter  of 
these,  William  H.  Gilder,  married  Jane  Nutt; 
and  of  this  union  there  was  born,  at  Bordentown, 
New  Jersey,  February  8,  1844,  the  subject  of  our 
sketch,  Richard  Watson  Gilder.  The  father  of 
Richard  Watson  was  a  man  of  excellent  literary 
taste  and  of  fine  scholarship.  He  was  at  one  time 
editor  of  the  Philadelphia  Repository,  and  also  of 
the  Literary  Register,  and  was  later  interested  in 
The  Methodist,  and  became  its  regular  corre 
spondent  from  the  seat  of  war.  While  Richard  was 
still  a  child  his  father  established  and  was  presi 
dent  of  the  Female  Seminary  at  Flushing,  New 
York.  Afterward  he  entered  the  army,  went  to 
the  front  as  chaplain  of  the  Fortieth  New  York 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  n 

Volunteers,  and  died  in  the  heroic  performance 
of  duty,  as  he  conceived  it,  ministering  to  the  sol 
diers  stricken  with  smallpox. 

Our  author  received  his  education  almost  entirely 
in  the  little  seminary  at  Flushing  and  later  from 
private  tutors.  His  vocation  was  early  indicated. 
At  the  age  of  twelve  he  is  publishing  a  little  foot- 
square  paper,  for  which  he  himself  sets  the  type 
and  does  all  the  work.  A  little  later  he,  with  some 
youthful  companions,  is  publishing  a  campaign 
paper  at  Bordentown,  New  Jersey.  At  the  death 
of  his  father  young  Gilder  is  thrown  upon  his  own 
resources,  and  after  one  or  two  tentative  attempts 
we  find  him  finally  settled  into  his  life's  work,  first 
as  reporter  on  the  Newark  Advertiser,  and  then 
successively  legislative  correspondent,  local  editor, 
and  managing  editor.  A  little  later,  in  con 
junction  with  Mr.  R.  Newton  Crane,  he  started 
the  Newark  Morning  Register,  a  daily  publication; 
and  about  the  same  time  he  assumed  the  editor 
ship  of  Hours  at  Home,  a  New  York  monthly, 
published  by  the  Scribners,  for  which  he  had  pre 
viously  written  editorials. 

The  newspaper  venture  was  not  a  success  finan 
cially,  and  finally  had  to  be  given  up.  When 
Scribner's  Monthly  was  started,  Hours  at  Home 
was  incorporated  with  it,  and  Dr.  Holland,  editor- 
in-chief  of  the  new  publication,  associated  Mr. 


12  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Gilder  with  himself  as  managing  editor.  During 
the  eleven  years  of  Mr.  Gilder's  association  with 
Dr.  Holland  the  magazine  was  greatly  enlarged, 
and  when,  in  1881,  the  doctor  died  it  was 
natural  and  inevitable  that  his  successor  should 
be  his  former  brilliant  and  indefatigable  man 
aging  editor.  Thus  we  see  that  at  the  age  of 
twenty-six  Richard  Watson  Gilder,  as  has  well 
been  said,  "found  himself  in  a  position  of  honor 
and  high  literary  influence,"  and  at  thirty-six 
— the  name  meanwhile  having  been  changed  from 
Scribner's  to  The  Century — he  is  editor-in-chief 
of  one  of  the  leading  literary  magazines  of  the 
country. 

The  poetic  instinct  is  native  to  Mr.  Gilder.  It 
is  as  natural  for  him  to  express  himself  in  poetry 
as  for  other  men  to  speak  or  write  in  prose.  Dur 
ing  his  busy  editorial  career  he  has  also  been  writing 
verse  destined  to  live  and  have  abiding  influence. 
His  publications  are  gathered  in  the  following 
volumes:  Five  Books  of  Song,  1894,  in  which 
are  included  The  New  Day,  The  Celestial  Pas 
sion,  Lyrics,  Two  Worlds,  and  The  Great  Remem 
brance.  To  these  must  be  added  In  Palestine, 
Poems  and  Inscriptions,  and  his  recently  pub 
lished  volume,  In  the  Heights.  All  bear  the 
imprint  of  The  Century  Company. 

In  addition  to  all  this  Mr.  Gilder  is  a  frequent; 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  13 

presence  at  distinguished  literary,  social,  and 
civic  events.  To  college  and  university  occasions 
he  contributes  by  voice  and  pen;  and  though  he 
will  not  allow  himself  to  be  called  "Doctor,"  he 
has  received  honorary  degrees  from  Harvard, 
Princeton,  Yale,  Dickinson,  and  Wesleyan.  It 
would  be  tedious,  as  it  is  needless,  to  specify  the 
literary,  artistic,  and  social  clubs,  associations,  and 
other  organizations  that  have  been  honored  by 
his  membership  and  helped  by  his  wise  and 
effective  counsel  and  leadership. 

This  sketch  may  fitly  close  with  the  statement 
that  he  was  the  first  president  of  the  Kindergarten 
Association  of  New  York,  and  had  a  large  share  in 
the  establishment  of  free  kindergartens  in  New 
York  city.  Also,  he  was  chairman  of  the  Tene 
ment  House  Commission,  New  York,  1894,  and 
gave  to  it  many  months  of  painstaking  and  dis 
criminating  thought  and  service.  Much  of  the 
improved  condition  in  New  York  city  tenements 
is  due  to  Mr.  Gilder's  unselfish  labor. 

In  1874  Mr.  Gilder  married  Miss  Helena 
DeKay,  daughter  of  Commodore  DeKay,  and 
granddaughter  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake.  He  has 
a  city  home  in  the  neighborhood  of  Washington 
Square,  New  York,  of  which  neighborhood  he  says : 

This  is  the  end  of  the  town  that  I  love  the  best. 

Oh,  lovely  the  hour  of  light  from  the  burning  west — 


14  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Of  light  that  lingers  and  fades  in  the  shadowy  square 
Where  the  solemn  fountain  lifts  a  shaft  in  the  air 
To  catch  the  skyey  colors,  and  fling  them  down 
In  a  wild  wood  torrent  that  drowns  the  noise  of  the  town. 

Also  a  country  residence  in  Tyringham,  among 
the  Berkshire  Hills;  and  of  this  latter  he  sings: 

Down  in  the  meadow  and  up  on  the  height 
The  breezes  are  blowing  the  willows  white. 
In  the  elms  and  maples  the  robins  call, 
And  the  great  black  crow  sails  over  all 

In  Tyringham,  Tyringham  Valley. 

The  river  winds  through  the  trees  and  the  brake 
And  the  meadow  grass  like  a  shining  snake ; 
And  low  in  the  summer  and  loud  in  the  spring 
The  rapids  and  reaches  murmur  and  sing 

In  Tyringham,  Tyringham  Valley. 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  MESSAGE 

THE  MAN 

To  understand  and  rightly  estimate  our  author 
we  need  something  more  than  the  biographical 
data.  What  are  some  of  his  intellectual  and  moral 
inheritances;  what  was  the  nature  of  his  early 
environment;  and  what  the  character  of  that  per 
sonality  which  inevitably  molds  and  controls 
heredity  and  environment  to  one's  own  ends  and 
aims  ?  From  his  paternal  grandfather,  John 
Gilder,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  Richard  Watson 
inherits  his  practical  interest  in  men  and  affairs. 
He  cannot  be  content  merely  to  write  and  advise; 
to  utter  beautiful  sentiments,  and  leave  the  practical 
application  of  these  sentiments  to  others.  He  is 
himself  a  tireless  toiler  in  ways  that  make  for  social 
and  civic  betterment.  What  has  already  been 
noted  in  our  biographical  sketch,  concerning  his 
interest  in  kindergarten  development  and  tenement 
house  reform,  is  proof  enough  of  his  practical  sym 
pathy  and  effort  for  the  life  of  to-day.  From  his 
father  comes  not  only  spiritual  sensitiveness  and 
literary  instinct,  but  also  a  high  moral  enthusiasm 
that  keeps  him  toiling  at  tasks  that  can  hardly  be 
naturally  agreeable  to  one  of  his  temperament; 


16  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

because,  like  Paul,  he  feels  he  is  debtor  to  all  men. 
Unconsciously  he  realizes  that  the  gifts  and  graces, 
the  abilities  and  capacities  of  life  are  not  for  selfish 
ease  and  personal  enjoyment,  but  for  useful  serv 
ice.  And  this  truth  of  the  nobility  of  service  he 
not  only  urges  and  glorifies  in  his  poems,  but  exem 
plifies  in  his  life.  Dr.  William  V.  Kelley  speaks 
simple  truth  when  he  says,  "  Life,  its  tasks,  duties, 
and  responsibilities,  are  immensely  sacred  to 
Richard  Watson  Gilder."  I  fancy  he  would 
heartily  subscribe  to  the  truth  of  Fanny  Kemble's 
lines : 

A  sacred  burden  is  this  life  ye  bear ; 
Look  on  it,  lift  it,  bear  it  solemnly, 
Stand  up  and  walk  beneath  it  steadfastly. 
Fail  not  for  sorrow,  falter  not  for  sin, 
But  onward  upward,  till  the  goal  ye  win. 

His  mother  was  a  woman  of  quiet  and  beautiful 
life,  with  a  poetic  nature,  and  a  mind  much  given 
to  beautiful  dreams  and  exquisite  ideals  that  have 
come  into  concrete  form  in  the  life  and  work  of  her 
boy.  From  her  comes,  doubtless,  the  delicate  and 
dreamy,  the  sensitive  and  responsive  poetic  tend 
ency,  Her  influence  is  not  doubtful,  for  he  him 
self  has  told  us  how  enduring  it  is.  In  one  of  his 
poems  he  speaks  of  the  depression  that  comes  as 
one  sees  the  world  rewarding  vice  and  punishing 
innocence,  man  clinging  to  his  low,  brutish  nature; 
nature  itself  careless  or  cruel;  but  his  mother's 


THE  MAN  17 

face  glows  in  vision  and  he  takes  heart  of  grace 
and  sings: 

These  are  forever  with  me, — but  grow  dim 
When  I  remember  my  sweet  mother's  face. 
Somewhere,  at  heart  of  all.  the  right  must  reign, 
If  in  the  garden  of  the  infinite 
Such  loveliness  be  brought  to  perfect  bloom. 

And  can  anything  be  more  exquisitely  filial  and 
tender  than  these  lines  from  Poems  and  Inscrip 
tions  ? — 

Many  the  names,  the  souls,  the  faces  dear 
That  I  have  longed  to  frame  in  verse  sincere; 
But  one  high  name,  sweet  soul,  and  face  of  love 
Seemed  ever  my  poor  art,  oh,  far  above. 
Like  Mary's,  stricken  with  sorrow  was  that  face; 
Like  hers  it  wore  a  most  majestic  grace. 
That  soul  was  tender  as  the  sunset  sky, 
And  full  of  lofty  dream  her  days  went  by ; 
That  name — than  God's  alone  there  is  no  other 
Holy  as  thine  to  me,  O  sacred  Mother! 

Fortunate  as  Mr.  Gilder  is  in  his  heredity,  he 
is  equally  so  in  the  matter  of  early  environment, 
and  in  the  quality  of  the  influences  that  touched 
him  in  the  plastic  years  of  early  boyhood.  Among 
his  father's  intimate  friends  were  the  Rev. 
Drs.  John  McClintock,  George  R.  Crooks,  and 
James  Strong.  If  there  ever  was  an  aristocracy 
of  Methodism — an  aristocracy  sprung  from  the 
union  of  culture  and  spirituality — these  men  were 
surely  among  its  chosen  representatives.  Moncure 
D.  Conway,  who  cannot  be  accused  of  any  bias 


i8  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

toward  the  Methodism  he  has  left  and  disparaged, 
knew  some  of  these  men.  When  he  entered  Dickin 
son  College  he  found  them  in  the  faculty,  and  in 
his  recently  published  Autobiography1  says  of 
them:  "The  classical  department  was  represented 
by  Dr.  John  McClintock  and  Dr.  George  R. 
Crooks,  who  were  Broad  Church  Methodists 
and  original  thinkers."  Of  Professor  McClin 
tock  he  says:  "His  scholarship  and  literary 
accomplishments  brought  his  pen  into  much 
demand  for  the  Methodist  Quarterly  and  other 
publications.  He  kept  abreast  of  theological  and 
philosophical  inquiries  in  Europe  and  America. 
We  were  all  proud  of  his  reputation. "  After  hear 
ing  a  sermon  from  Professor  Crooks,  based  on 
I  Cor.  13,  he  writes:  "Whether  then,  or  before, 
or  afterward,  a  great  love  for  Crooks  sprang  in 
my  breast.  I  presently  had  him  for  my  'patron/ 
and  I  never  knew  a  better  man.  Our  friendship 
continued  through  life,  and  his  death  bereaved 
me  of  one  from  whose  affection  no  doctrinal  differ 
ences  could  ever  alienate  me."  Conway  did  not 
know  Dr.  Strong,  but  those  of  us  who  did  know 
him  know  well  how  worthy  a  member  he  was  of 
that  unique  and  high-souled  group — McClintock, 
Crooks,  Strong,  and  Gilder.  Writing  in  the  Chris 
tian  Advocate  of  August  30,  1894,  shortly  after 

»Vol.  I,  pp.  47.  S».  54- 


THE  MAN  19 

Dr.  Strong's  death,  Mr.  Gilder  pays  tribute  to  his 
worth  and  to  the  abiding  influence  of  his  words 
and  works.  "May  I  claim  a  little  space  here/' 
he  says,  "for  a  brief  personal  tribute  to  my  dear 
and  lifelong  friend — Dr.  James  Strong  ?  There  are 
very  many  who  have  had  with  him  the  relation 
of  pupil  to  master,  but  I  think  there  must  be  few 
who  so  early  in  life  came  in  such  close  contact 
with  the  doctor.  ...  It  was  for  a  little  class 
of  students  that  met  in  his  study  on  Bridge  Street 
(Flushing)  that  he  made  his  Greek  and  Hebrew 
grammars.  That  class  consisted  of  several  clergy 
men  and  teachers,  and  one  very  small  boy  whose 
teacher  helped  generously  his  strenuous  efforts  to 
keep  up  in  the  scholarly  procession  of  his  elders. 
.  .  .  How  kind  and  helpful  he  was  may  well  be 
imagined;  but  outside  of  this  (in  his  official  capac 
ity  as  Sunday  school  teacher  and  class  leader, 
and  in  his  personal  relations  as  friend  and  spiritual 
guide),  how  gentle  and  wise  he  was  with  a  boy 
who  took  too  seriously,  no  doubt,  the  conventional 
rules  and  precepts  of  religion.  All  this  cannot  be 
fully  told  without  going  too  deeply  into  matters 
of  personal  concern.  The  nobility  of  his  nature, 
his  brightness  of  spirit,  and  wisdom  in  dealing 
with  perplexities  and  burdens  of  mind  and  soul 
— how  invaluable  such  an  influence  (added  to  simi 
lar  influences  on  the  part  of  the  beloved  parents) 


2o  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

in  training  the  spirit  and  driving  moroianess 
from  the  mind  of  a  child  in  whose  nature  aesthetic 
instincts  and  traditional  pietistic  teachings  were 
making  dangerous  warfare."  One  can  readily  see 
how  much  the  intellectual  strength,  the  spiritual 
sanity,  and  the  sanctified  common  sense  of  James 
Strong  had  to  do  with  the  early  making  of  Richard 
Watson  Gilder. 

But  we  can  never  safely  neglect  the  personal 
equation.  Shy  and  reticent,  inclined,  as  we  see 
by  the  extract  just  given,  to  somewhat  too  serious 
and,  probably,  morbidly  conscientious  a  view  of 
religion,  none  the  less  this  sensitive  and  timid  boy 
had  his  own  ideas  and  ideals.  That  intangible 
but  most  real  and  powerful  something  that  we 
name  the  "Ego"  was  at  work  upon  heredity  and 
environment,  molding  and  fusing  them  at  its  own 
behest.  The  son  of  a  preacher,  this  man  is  not  a 
preacher  in  the  technical  sense  or  after  the 
accepted  order.  The  companion  and  friend  of  theo 
logians,  and  of  scholars  in  special  and  abstruse  de 
partments  of  thought,  he  is  neither  a  linguistic  pro 
fessor  nor  the  framer  or  defender  of  theological 
creeds.  But  even  as  these  men,  his  companions, 
friends,  intellectual  and  spiritual  guides,  had 
their  message  for  their  day,  and  uttered  it  with 
freedom  and  with  force,  so  he  has  his  message, 
and  in  the  same  spirit  that  animated  them  he 


THE  MAN  21 

utters  it  freely  and  sends  it  out  fearlessly.  That 
he  feels  this,  and  realizes  not  only  the  privileges  but 
the  duty  of  self-expression,  is  evident  from  what  he 
says  in  "Art  and  Life": 

Said  the  Seer  to  the  Poet:  Arise 
And  give  to  the  seas  and  the  skies 
The  message  that  in  thee  burns. 
Thrice  speak,  though  the  blue  sky  turns 
Deaf  ears,  and  the  ocean  spurns 
Thy  call.     Though  men  despise 
The  word  that  from  out  thy  heart 
Flameth,  do  thou  thy  part. 

In  the  home  of  thy  spirit  be  true, 
Though  the  voice  of  the  street  cry  shame. 

Not  only  does  he  feel  himself  possessed  of  a 
message  that  must  be  uttered,  obligated  with  a 
mission  that  must  be  performed;  but  also  he 
knows  the  meaning  of  message  and  mission. 
This  he  interprets  and  sets  clearly  forth  in  "The 
Poet  and  His  Master."  The  Poet  is  complaining 
to  his  Master  that  he  cannot  sing  because  of 
the  woes  of  his  dearest  friend.  His  heart  is  heavy 
and  his  lyre  is  unstrung.  Then  the  Master  speaks : 

"Alas,  and  hast  thou  then  so  soon  forgot 
The  bond  that  with  thy  gift  of  song  did  go — 
Severe  as  fate,  fixed  and  unchangeable? 
Even  though  his  heart  be  sounding  its  own  knell 
Dost  thou  not  know  this  is  the  poet's  lot : 
'Mid  sounds  of  war,  in  halcyon  times  of  peace, 
To  strike  the  ringing  wire  and  not  to  cease ; 
In  hours  of  general  happiness  to  swell 


22  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

The  common  joy;  and  when  the  people  cry 
With  piteous  voice  loud  to  the  pitiless  sky, 
'Tis  his  to  frame  the  universal  prayer 
And  breathe  the  balm  of  song  upon  the  accursM 
air?" 

He  strikes  even  a  deeper  note  than  this.  It 
is  not  enough  for  the  poet  to  feel  that  he  has  a  mes 
sage  that  must  be  delivered,  a  mission  that  may 
not  be  shirked;  not  enough  even  rightly  to  inter 
pret  the  scope  of  that  message  and  mission.  He 
needs  also  to  know  and  touch  the  source  of  abid 
ing  inspiration,  knowledge,  and  truth.  Whence 
shall  he  gain  the  wisdom  and  skill  and  strength 
for  the  duty  and  work  that  must  be  done  ?  That  our 
poet  knows  the  home  of  wisdom,  the  secret  place 
of  truth,  and  the  dwelling  place  of  strength  is  evi 
dent  when  one  gets  at  the  truth  enshrined  in 
"The  Master  Poets": 

He  the  great  World-Musician,  at  whose  stroke 
The  stars  of  morning  into  music  broke ; 
He  from  whose  Being  Infinite  are  caught 
All  harmonies  of  light,  and  sound,  and  thought — 
Once  in  each  age,  to  keep  the  world  in  tune 
He  strikes  a  note  sublime .     Nor  late ,  nor  soon , 
A  godlike  soul — music  and  passion's  birth — 
Vibrates  across  the  discord  of  the  earth 
And  sets  the  world  aright. 

Oh,  these  are  they 
Who  on  men's  hearts  with  mightiest  power  can 

play— 

The  master-poets  of  humanity, 
From  heaven  sent  down  to  lift  men  to  the  sky. 


THE  MESSAGE  23 

THE  MESSAGE 

The  message  of  Gilder's  poetry  to  our  day  can 
not  be  compassed  in  a  single  sentence.  His  is  a 
comprehensive  muse  that  deals  with  many  sub 
jects.  A  harp  he  has  of  many  strings  sending  out 
notes  and  harmonies  of  many  sorts.  Wordsworth 

speaks  of 

that  blessed  mood, 

In  which  the  burthen  of  the  mystery, 
In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world, 
Is  lightened:     . 

While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things. 

This  mood  is  Gilder's.  He  sees  into  and  inter 
prets  the  life  of  things.  Our  age  is  surely 
engrossed  in  the  material,  absorbed  in  business 
and  pleasure.  What  Emerson  said  of  his  day  is 
equally  true  of  our  time: 

The  horseman  serves  the  horse, 

The  neatherd  serves  the  neat, 
The  merchant  serves  the  purse, 

The  eater  serves  his  meat; 
'Tis  the  day  of  the  chattel, 

Web  to  weave  and  corn  to  grind ; 
Things  are  in  the  saddle, 

And  ride  mankind. 

It  is  to  such  an  age  that  Gilder's  verse  is 
directed.  To  men  and  women  occupied  with  the 


24  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

material,  he  sings  of  the  value  of  the  spiritual.  To 
a  day  all  too  easily  satisfied  with  surfaces,  he 
speaks  of  substance  and  reality.  To  a  time  that, 
as  one  of  the  ancients  said, 

Does  not  abolish  the  gods, 

But  sends  them  well  out  of  the  way; 

With  the  rarest  of  nectar  to  drink, 

And  the  blue  halls  of  nothing  to  sway, 

he  offers  a  God  present  and  active,  immanent  and 
interested  in  all  the  avenues  of  man's  manifold 
activity: 

Heardst  thou  these  wanderers  reasoning  of  a  time 
When  men  more  near  the  Eternal  One  shall  climb? 
How  like  the  newborn  child,  who  cannot  tell 
A  mother's  arm  that  wraps  it  warm  and  well! 
Leaves  of  His  rose ;  drops  in  His  sea  that  flow — 
Are  they,  alas,  so  blind  they  may  not  know 
Here,  in  this  breathing  world  of  joy  and  fear, 
They  can  no  nearer  get  to  God  than  here. 

In  this  he  is  at  one  with  the  psalmist,  whose  soul 
is  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  the  living  God; 
and  with  Tennyson,  who  sings: 

Speak  to  Him,  thou,  for  He  hears,  and  spirit  with  spirit  can 

meet — 
Closer  is  He  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than  hands  and  feet. 

He  is  the  poet  of  the  deeper,  truer,  and  higher  life 
of  man.  In  his  emphasis  and  unfoldment  of  that 
life  there  are  many  notes. 


THE  MESSAGE  25 

One  note  of  his  message  is  surely  concerning 
the  cleanness  of  life.  Whether  he  deals  with 
nature,  or  human  nature,  he  believes  what  is  writ 
ten  :  "  And  God  saw  everything  that  he  had  made, 
and,  behold,  it  was  very  good."  He  believes, 
again,  that  the  things  of  God  are  not  to  be  called, 
or  made,  common  or  unclean  by  any  narrow  or 
meager  thought  of  man.  His  own  nature  is  so 
healthy  and  clean  that  it  fits  him  to  be  the  inter 
preter  of  God's  thought  in  the  creation  of  nature 
and  humanity. 

Thy  mind  is  like  a  crystal  brook 

Wherein  clean  creatures  live  at  ease, 

In  sun-bright  waves  or  shady  nook. 

Birds  sing  above  it, 

The  warm-breathed  cattle  love  it, 
It  doth  sweet  childhood  please, 

may  well  stand  as  the  motto  and  symbol  of  his 
thought  and  writing.  That  men  may  degenerate, 
that  the  high  purpose  of  creation  may  be  frustrated, 
that  the  clean  things  of  God  may  become  unclean 
in  the  handling  of  low-thoughted  men,  he  sees  as 
well  as  anyone.  But  his  effort  always  is  to  show 
the  bright  and  beautiful,  the  high  and  holy  pur 
pose  of  the  whole  sweep  of  life.  His  Prelude  in 
"The  Celestial  Passion"  is  a  plea  for  purity,  white 
as  snow  upon  the  untrodden  Alpine  peaks;  flaw 
less  as  the  unstained  nature  of  the  angelic  host. 
3 


26  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Its  genesis  was  as  follows:  One  evening  in  a 
somewhat  general  company  he  had  been  forced 
to  hear  the  gossip  of  suspicion  and  of  acrid  criti 
cism.  As  he  walked  homeward,  though  he  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  slantwise  and  gossipy  talk, 
his  sensitive  nature  felt  humiliated;  unconsciously 
his  moral  nature  had  been  soiled;  he  felt  as 
the  traveler  who,  through  no  fault  of  his  own, 
has  been  begrimed  with  the  soil  and  stain  of  the 
journey,  and  must  have  a  bath  before  he  can  feel 
comfortable  and  clean.  So  his  inner  spirit  felt, 
and  the  Prelude  is  the  expression  of  that  feeling: 

O  white  and  midnight  sky!  O  starry  bath ! 

Wash  me  in  thy  pure,  heavenly,  crystal  flood; 
Cleanse  me,  ye  stars,  from  earthly  soil  and  scath; 

Let  not  one  taint  remain  in  spirit  or  blood! 
Receive  my  soul,  ye  burning,  awful  deeps; 

Touch  and  baptize  me  with  the  mighty  power 
That  in  ye  thrills,  while  the  dark  planet  sleeps; 

Make  me  all  yours  for  one  blest,  secret  hour! 
O  glittering  host!     O  high  angelic  choir! 

Silence  each  tone  that  with  thy  music  jars ; 
Fill  me  even  as  an  urn  with  thy  white  fire 

Till  all  I  am  is  kindred  to  the  stars! 
Make  me  thy  child,  thou  infinite,  holy  night — 
So  shall  my  days  be  full  of  heavenly  light! 

Another  note  in  this  poet's  message  is  the  high 
seriousness  of  life.  The  ethical  character  of  even 
life's  little  things  is  evident  to  this  interpreter  of 
man's  deeper  nature.  How  well  and  clearly  is 


THE  MESSAGE  27 

this  portrayed  in  the  lines  entitled  "One  Deed 
May  Mar  a  Life": 

One  deed  may  mar  a  life, 

And  one  can  make  it ; 
Hold  firm  thy  will  for  strife, 

Lest  a  quick  blow  break  it! 
Even  now  from  far  on  viewless  wing 
Hither  speeds  the  nameless  thing 

Shall  put  thy  spirit  to  the  test. 
Haply,  or  e'er  yon  sinking  sun 

Shall  drop  behind  the  purple  West 
All  shall  be  lost — or  won! 

And  what  is  more  indicative  of  this  ethical  sense, 
this  sanely  religious  view  of  life,  than  such  simple 
and  perfect  lines  as  these  ?— 

Each  moment  holy  is,  for  out  from  God 

Each  moment  flashes  forth  a  human  soul. 

Holy  each  moment  is,  for  back  to  him 

Some  wandering  soul  each  moment  home  returns. 

The  religiousness  that  Mr.  Gilder  believes  in 
is  not  the  sort  that  expresses  itself  in  formal 
fashion  or  with  stereotyped  phrase.  It  does  not 
content  itself  with  easily  and  glibly  repeating 
the  religious  concepts  of  other  days  and  other  men. 
Rather  it  is  fealty  to  truth,  loyalty  to  right  and 
righteousness,  and,  back  of  all  that,  loyalty  to  the 
God  of  truth  and  right  and  righteousness.  In 
these  days,  when  so  many  men  seem  to  have  lost 
moral  sensitiveness;  when  conscience  and  the 


28  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

sense  of  right  seem,  if  not  dead,  then  surely  dull 
and  blunted;  when  men  high  in  the  world  of  civics 
and  commerce  stand  convicted  of  low  ideals,  base, 
selfish,  and  ignoble  aims,  willing  to  sacrifice  sacred 
trusts  for  the  gaining  of  pelf  and  power  and  place, 
how  heartening  and  strengthening  it  is  to  hear  our 
author  say: 

He  fails  who  climbs  to  power  and  place 
Up  the  pathway  of  disgrace. 
He  fails  not  who  makes  truth  his  cause, 
Nor  bends  to  win  the  crowd's  applause. 
He  fails  not,  he  who  stakes  his  all 
Upon  the  right,  and  dares  to  fall; — 
What  though  the  living  bless  or  blame, 
For  him  the  long  success  of  fame. 

The  bugle  here  gives  no  uncertain  sound. 
Whenever  he  deals  with  human  life,  either  in  the 
abstract  or  in  relations,  his  touch  is  swift  and  sure. 
The  ethical  concept  is  never  absent.  Life  is  the 
all-important  fact;  all  else  is  secondary.  Well 
does  he  say,  "Thou  who  hast  wisdom,  fear  not 
Death,  but  Life!"  Man  is  no  trifler  to  spend  his 
time  with  the  toys  and  passing  pleasures  of  the 
moment.  Nor  is  he  to  spend  his  years  in  repining 
and  moping  because  of  life's  pains  and  privations, 
its  adversities  and  oppositions.  Rather  he  is  to 
rejoice  in  the  high  privilege  of  loyalty  to  truth 
and  duty — the  royal  opportunity  of  the  ordinary 
hour  and  day: 


THE  MESSAGE  29 

Give  thy  day  to  Duty! 

To  that  high  thought  be  given 

Thine  every  hour. 

So  shall  the  bending  heaven, — 

As  from  the  root  the  flower, — 

Bring  to  thy  glad  soul  Beauty. 

— In  the  Heights. 


Another  note  in  the  poet's  message  is  the  no 
bility  and  dignity  of  service.  Some  men  toil  and 
agonize  in  the  effort  to  possess  that  they  may 
be  free  from  the  pressure  of  obligation.  Said 
a  man  of  large  wealth,  "The  habit  of  my  life 
has  been  to  acquire;  you  do  not  know  how  hard 
it  is  for  me  to  give."  Mr.  Gilder  understands 
that  the  true  law  of  life  is  that  the  more  we  have 
the  more  we  owe.  Possession,  capacity,  gifts, 
or  powers  in  any  sphere  are  a  sacred  and  holy 
trust.  We  have  been  put  in  possession  of  these 
things  not  to  hoard,  but  to  use,  and  to  enjoy  in 
the  using;  "not  to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  min 
ister."  In  "The  Poet  and  His  Master,"  already 
referred  to,  he  clearly  shows  that  the  business 
of  the  poet  is  not  merely  to  sing  when  his  own 
soul  is  full  of  peace  and  joy,  but  even  in  time  of 
disappointment  and  bitter  agony;  then  also  he 
must  utter  his  song,  for  his  work  is  to  comfort 
and  strengthen  and  cheer  his  fellow  sufferers. 
When  the  Poet  would  cease  because  of  his  per- 
.sonal  grief,  because  of  the  misinterpretations  and 


30  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

malignments  of  the  ignorant  or  wicked,  then  the 
Master  says: 

I  bid  thee  sing,  even  though  I  have  not  told 
All  the  deep  flood  of  anguish  shall  be  rolled 
Across  thy  breast.     Nor,  Poet,  shalt  thou  bring 
From  out  those  depths  thy  grief!     Tell  to  the  wind 
Thy  private  woes,  but  not  to  human  ear, 
Save  in  the  shape  of  comfort  for  thy  kind. 
But  never  hush  thy  song,  dare  not  to  cease 
While  life  is  thine.     Haply,  'mid  those  who  hear, 
Thy  music  to  one  soul  shall  murmur  peace, 
Though  for  thyself  it  hath  no  power  to  cheer. 

Then  shall  thy  still  unbroken  spirit  grow 
Strong  in  its  silent  suffering  and  more  wise ; 
And  as  the  drenched  and  thunder-shaken  skies 
Pass  into  golden  sunset — thou  shalt  know 
An  end  of  calm,  when  evening  breezes  blow; 
And  looking  on  thy  life  with  vision  fine 
Shalt  see  the  shadow  of  a  hand  divine. 

The  poet  has  no  right  to  inflict  his  personal 
woes  and  losses  upon  the  world.  The  pessimism 
that  would  weaken  and  dishearten  the  many  be 
cause  of  individual  grievance  has  no  place  in  liter 
ature.  With  Emerson  he  holds  that  the  individual 
is  not  to  depress  and  dishearten  others  with  his  tale 
of  woe.  He  is  to  "consume  his  own  smoke," 
and  by  the  right  understanding  of  all  life's  hap 
penings  he  is  to  be  the  inbringer  of  light,  and  com 
fort,  and  strength.  A  significant,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  pathetic,  illustration  of  the  high,  incalcu 
lable  value  of  service  is  set  forth  in  his  poem  "Pro 


THE  MESSAGE  31 

Patria,"  which  is  not  only  an  illustration  of  this 
part  of  our  poet's  message,  but  also  a  filial  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  his  father: 

True  soldier  of  his  country  and  the  sacred  cross — 

He  counted  gain,  not  loss, 
Perils  and  nameless  horrors  of  the  embattled  field, 

While  he  had  help  to  yield. 

But  not  where  'mid  wild  cheers  the  awful  battle  broke, — 

A  hell  of  fire  and  smoke, — 
He  to  heroic  death  went  forth  with  soul  elate ; 

Harder  his  lonely  fate. 

Searching  where  most  was  needed,  worst  of  all  endured, 

Sufferers  he  found  immured, — 
Tented  apart  because  of  fatal,  foul  disease, — 

Balm  brought  he  unto  these; 

Celestial  balm,  the  spirit's  holy  ministry, 

He  brought,  and  only  he ; 
Where  men  who  blanched  not  at  the  battle's  shell  and  shot 

Trembled,  and  entered  not. 

Yet  life  to  him  was  oh.,  most  dear, — home,  children,  wife, — 

But,  dearer  still  than  life, 
Duty — that  passion  of  the  soul  which  from  the  sod 

Alone  lifts  man  to  God. 

The  pesthouse  entering  fearless — stricken  he  fearless  fell, 

Knowing  that  all  was  well ; 
The  high,  mysterious  Power  whereof  mankind  has  dreamed 

To  him  not  distant  seemed. 

So  nobly  died  this  unknown  hero  of  the  war; 

And  heroes,  near  and  far, 
Sleep  now  in  graves  like  his  unfamed  in  song  or  story — 

But  theirs  is  more  than  glory! 

The  same  truth  is  emphasized  in  his  little  poem 
"A  Hero  of  Peace,"  in  memory  of  Robert  Ross, 


32  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

who  lost  his  life  in  defending  the  sacredness  of  the 
elective  franchise.  It  is  a  call  to  a  deeper  and 
truer  interest,  on  the  part  of  the  average  citizen, 
in  the  things  that  make  for  civic  purity  and  better 
ment: 

Thy  deed,  thy  date,  thy  name 

Are  wreathed  with  deathless  flowers. 
Thy  fate  shall  be  the  guiding  flame 
That  lights  to  nobler  hours. 

Also  in  his  recent  volume,  In  the  Heights,  will  be 
found  a  group  of  songs  which  both  by  content  and 
intent  discover  the  mountain  peaks  of  civic  achieve 
ment  which  it  should  ever  be  the  ambition  of  high- 
souled  men  to  scale.  One  who  would  understand 
Mr.  Gilder's  thought  about  the  privilege  and  worth 
of  service  in  the  betterment  and  upbuilding  of  the 
city  and  the  state  will  do  well  to  read  "Inaugura 
tion  Day,"  "Builders  of  the  State,"  "For  the  City 
Clubs,"  and,  perhaps  best  of  all,  "The  Great  Citi 
zen,"  written  in  memory  of  Abram  S.  Hewitt, 
and  read  by  Bishop  Potter  at  the  funeral  of  that 
highly  influential  man: 

Talents  and  wealth  to  him  were  but  a  trust 
To  lift  his  hapless  brother  from  the  dust. 

Following  the  truth,  he  led  his  fellow  men, — 
Through  years  and  virtues  the  great  citizen! 

By  being  great  he  made  the  city  great, — 
Serving  the  city,  he  upheld  the  state. 

So  shall  the  city  win  a  purer  fame 
Led  by  the  living  splendor  of  his  name. 


THE  MESSAGE  33 

The  illustration  of  this  phase  of  our  poet's  mes 
sage  may  well  be  concluded  with  an  extract  from 
"The  Great  Remembrance" — lines  read  at  the 
annual  reunion  of  the  Society  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  1893.  In  these  lines 
we  see  the  wide  sweep  of  the  poet's  thought.  Serv 
ice,  helpfulness,  brotherhood,  and  kindliness  are 
not  merely  individual  qualities.  The  duty  and 
privilege  of  all  this  is  not  confined  to  the  individual, 
but  belongs  as  well  to  all  the  organizations  and 
institutions  of  humanity.  The  meaning  of  society 
and  government  is  human  uplift,  a  thoughtful  serv- 
iceableness  that  shall  be  world-wide  and  mutu 
ally  beneficial  and  helpful.  Hear  him  as  he 
shadows  forth  the  high  privilege  and  the  holy 
duty  of  this  favored  land  and  people: 

Land  that  we  love !     Thou  Future  of  the  World ! 

Thou  refuge  of  the  noble  heart  oppressed! 
Oh,  never  be  thy  shining  image  hurled 

From  its  high  place  in  the  adoring  breast 
Of  him  who  worships  thee  with  jealous  love! 
Keep  thou  thy  starry  forehead  as  the  dove 
All  white,  and  to  the  eternal  Dawn  inclined! 
Thou  art  not  for  thyself  but  for  mankind, 
And  to  despair  of  thee  were  to  despair 
Of  man,  of  man's  high  destiny,  of  God! 

To  despair  of  thee!     Ah  no! 
For  thou  thyself  art  Hope,  Hope  of  the  World  thou  an! 


THE     INFLUENCE     OF     CHRISTIAN 
THOUGHT    ILLUSTRATED 

THE  SPIRITUAL  NOTE 

ALL  who  have  carefully  studied  the  work  of  Mr. 
Gilder  have  been  impressed  with  its  high  moral 
quality  and  its  rich  spiritual  suggestiveness.  He 
deals  with  those  deeper  instincts,  feelings,  and 
aspirings 

which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain-light  of  all  our  day; 
Are  yet  a  master-light  of  all  our  seeing. 

In  an  article  written  some  fifteen  years  since,  and 
published  in  The  Christian  Advocate,  Professor 
Winchester,  of  Wesleyan  University,  thus  estimates 
the  poetry  of  Mr.  Gilder:  "The  most  striking 
things  in  his  work  are  a  certain  high  seriousness 
and  a  wealth  of  spiritual  suggestion.  His  gift 
is  distinctively  lyrical,  but  his  lyrics  are  of  an 
uncommon  variety.  They  are  the  lyrics  not  of 
passion  or  of  action,  but  of  thought.  Their  emo 
tion  is  born,  in  almost  every  case,  of  some  spir 
itual  perception.  The  best  of  these  sonnets  are 
moments  of  insight,  in  which  some  truth,  too  large 
or  too  subtle  to  be  confined  within  the  limits  of 
straight  dogmatic  statement,  rises  against  the 
inner  eye.  In  these  days,  when  a  vulgar  realism 

34 


THE  SPIRITUAL  NOTE  35 

is  the  fashion  in  fiction,  and  a  pretty  artificiality  is 
the  fashion  in  poetry,  it  is  refreshing  to  come  upon 
verse  which  dwells  habitually  upon  the  higher 
planes  of  thought  and  feeling."  And  Dr. 
William  V.  Kelley,  editor  of  the  Methodist 
Review,  in  an  article  in  that  periodical  in  Septem 
ber,  1900,  entitled  "The  Religion  of  Gilder's 
Poetry, "  writes :  "  If  better,  worthier  poetry  than 
Richard  Watson  Gilder's  is  now  being  written 
anywhere  in  America,  we  do  not  know  where  to  find 
it.  It  is  rich,  delicate,  refined,  artistic,  beautiful. 
In  it  there  is  nothing  flippant  or  cheap,  irreverent 
or  carnal.  Its  spirituality  is  an  antidote  to  the 
manifold  materialism  of  our  time.  .  .  .  Most 
of  it  is  essentially  lyrical,  full  of  feeling,  deep, 
genuine,  intense,  uttering  in  simple  poetry,  and 
in  words  felicitous,  musical,  effective,  its  cry  of 
aspiration,  of  love,  of  faith,  of  admiration,  of 
patriotism,  of  adoration.  It  is  ethical  in  every 
note,  and  makes  pervasively  for  righteousness." 

In  such  a  poet  there  is  of  necessity  a  constant 
play  and  interchange  of  the  religious  concepts  of 
the  ages  with  the  poet's  own  interpretation  and  use 
of  these  concepts.  In  this  respect  he  is  the  heir  of 
all  the  ages,  and  his  debt  to  "  dear  old  Anonymous  " 
is  simply  inconceivable.  Indeed,  Mr.  Gilder  him 
self  acknowledges  that  the  old  leaven  of  his  fathers 
is  deep  in  his  mind  and  heart,  and  that  he  cannot 


36  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

help  thinking  in,  and  with,  the  symbols  of  Chris 
tianity.  But  the  poet  does  not  take  these  religious 
thoughts  or  concepts  in  their  bare  and  sinewy 
outlines;  they  are  "clothed  upon"  with  his 
own  spiritual  insight  and  genius.  Through  his 
gracious  gift  and  high  endowment  they  take  on 
forms  of  beauty,  and  the  truth  that  would  often 
be  rejected  because  of  its  literal  severity  and  hard 
ness  is  gladly  accepted  and  utilized  through  the 
poet's  revelation  of  its  inner  beauty  and  spiritual 
power;  thus  fulfilling  Van  Dyke's  word  that  "life 
is  divine  when  duty  is  a  joy."  Mr.  Gilder 
assuredly  does  not  purposely  attempt  any  illustra 
tion  of  dogmatic  or  traditional  religion  or  theology. 
Quite  likely  he  would  dissent  from  many  of  our 
attempts  to  state,  and  define,  and  compass,  in 
formal  language,  those  deep,  illimitable,  and  in 
some  respects  indefinable  truths  of  the  soul-life. 
None  the  less  is  he  influenced  by  them,  and  as  they 
are  warp  and  woof  of  his  life  and  thought  he  must 
and  he  does  speak  out  the  thought  and  conviction 
of  his  heart.  He  could  not  be  true  to  himself  and 
do  otherwise;  indeed,  this  is  his  expressed  motto: 

Forth  with  thy  thought! 
Soon  'twill  be  naught, 
And  thou  in  thy  tomb. 
Now  is  air,  now  is  room. 
Down  with  false  shame; 
Reck  not  of  fame; 


THE  SPIRITUAL  NOTE  37 

Dread  not  man's  spite; 
Quench  not  thy  light. 
This  be  thy  creed, 
This  be  thy  deed: 
"Hide  not  thy  heart!" 

If  God  is,  he  made 
Sunshine  and  shade, 
Heaven  and  hell; 
This  we  know  well. 
Dost  thou  believe? 
Do  not  deceive ; 
Scorn  not  thy  faith — 
If  'tis  a  wraith, 
Soon  it  will  fly. 
Thou,  who  must  die, 
Hide  not  thy  heart! 

This  is  my  creed; 
This  be  my  deed : 
Faith,  or  a  doubt, 
I  shall  speak  out 
And  hide  not  my  heart. 

Practically  all  the  great  and  cardinal  Christian 
truths  are  some  way  touched  by  the  muse  of  our 
poet.  One  of  his  books  is  entitled  The  New  Day. 
It  is  a  treatment  of  love,  of  the  power  of  love  to 
suffuse  and  spiritualize,  mold  and  influence.  In 
delineating  this  that  Professor  Winchester  rightly 
calls  the  "new  day  love  makes  for  itself  when  it 
rises  pure  and  fulgent  in  any  human  life,"  he  shows 
how  love  interprets  the  mystery  and  pain,  the 
doubt  and  fear,  and  all  the  deeper  happenings  and 
feelings  of  the  universe  of  life.  In  "And  Were 
That  Best"  we  hear  the  voice  of  one  who  calls  for 


38  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

a  life  of  ease  and  rest,  void  of  struggle  and  pain 
and  strife;  to  whom  is  pointed  out  the  worth  of 
the  strife  and  the  toil,  under  the  inspiration  and 
guidance  of  love : 

And  were  that  best,  Love,  rest  serene  and  deep! 

Gone  labor  and  desire;  no  arduous  steep 

To  climb,  no  songs  to  sing,  no  prayers  to  pray, 
No  help  for  those  who  perish  by  the  way, 

No  laughter  'midst  our  tears,  no  tears  to  weep! 

Oh,  rather,  far,  the  sorrow-bringing  gleam, 
The  living  day's  long  agony  and  strife! 
Rather  strong  love  in  pain;  the  waking  woe! 

If  one  would  like  to  see  how  Christ's  love  reveals 
the  folly  of  boasting  one's  privations  and  pains 
let  him  read  "There  Is  Nothing  New  Under  the 
Sun."  If  he  would  understand  the  abnegation 
of  a  pure  and  perfect  love  let  him  ponder  "I  Will 
Be  Brave  for  Thee,"  with  its  closing  lines, 
exquisite  in  their  self-abandon: 

If  thy  one  thought  of  me  or  hindereth 

Or  hurteth  thy  sweet  soul — then  grant  me  grace 
To  be  forgotten,  though  that  grace  be  death! 

In  "Body  and  Soul"  there  is  finely  and  felici 
tously  expressed  the  true  relation  of  flesh  and  spirit 
in  a  pure  and  permanent  love.  As  the  external 
symmetry  and  beauty  of  a  cathedral  may  attract 
the  eye  and  attention  of  the  traveler,  and  draw  his 
steps  across  the  threshold,  only  to  find  that  after 
all  the  cathedral's  deep  meaning  and  abiding 


THE  SPIRITUAL  NOTE  39 

power  is  in  its  inner  grace  and  symbolism,  its 
light,  and  music,  and  spiritual  suggestiveness,  so 
the  body  must  be  the  doorway  to  the  inner  shrine 
and  holy  of  holies: 

Moved  by  the  body's  outer  majesty 
I  entered  in  thy  silent,  sacred  shrine; 
'Twos  then,  all  suddenly  and  unaware, 
Thou  didst  reveal,  O  maiden  Love!  to  me, 
This  beautiful,  singing,  holy  soul  of  thine. 

If  one  is  inclined  to  be  bitter  and  hard,  to  blame 
God  for  the  mystery,  and  hurt,  and  pain,  let  him 
read  over  and  over  again  "The  Sower."  If  he 
feels  it  not  now,  the  day  will  surely  come  when  the 
concluding  refrain  will  sing  its  truth  and  comfort 
in  his  aching  heart: 

Thou  only  art  wise, 
God  of  the  earth  and  skies! 
And  I  praise  £nee,  again  and  again, 
For  the  Sower  whose  name  is  Pain. 

Where  among  moderns  will  you  find  anything 
that  speaks  more  beautifully  or  powerfully  of  the 
pervasive,  ennobling,  purifying,  and  inspiriting 
quality  of  a  deep  and  genuine  love  than  in  "My 
Songs  Are  All  of  Thee"?- 

My  songs  are  all  of  thee.     .     . 

I  think  no  thought  that  is  not  thine,  no  breath 

Of  life  I  breathe  beyond  thy  sanctity ; 

Thou  art  the  voice  that  silence  uttereth, 

And  of  all  sound  thou  art  the  sense.     From  thee 

The  music  of  my  song,  and  what  it  saith 

Is  but  the  beat  of  thy  heart,  throbbed  through  me. 


40  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Many  men  there  are,  aye,  and  women  too,  in 
many  of  the  ways  of  life,  who  can  respond  to  the 
truth  enshrined  in  these  lines.  The  power  of  a 
great  and  noble  love  overshadows  them,  beats  in 
their  blood,  broods  in  their  moods,  and  comes  to 
being  in  their  worthy  and  noble  achievements. 
And  how  nobly  is  the  purpose  and  outcome  of  it  all 
expressed!  This  love  of  which  the  poet  sings  has 
its  mystery  and  sorrow,  its  darkness  and  pain.  It 
is  part  and  parcel  of  life,  and  like  life  it  is  neither 
all  sunshine  nor  all  shade,  all  prosperity  nor  all 
adversity,  all  pleasure  nor  all  pain,  but  a  true 
composite,  full  of  the  changeful  experiences  that 
go  to  the  making  of  human  character.  Only  let 
it  be  true,  and  truly  noble,  pure,  and  pervasive; 
not  the  gay  and  fleeting  shadow,  but  the  deep 
and  abiding  substance  and  reality:  let  it  be  this, 
and  the  issue  is  not  doubtful.  So  our  poet-prophet 
and  seer  feels  and  knows : 

Through  love  to  light!     Oh,  wonderful  the  way 
That  leads  from  darkness  to  the  perfect  day! 
From  darkness  and  from  sorrow  of  the  night 
To  morning  that  comes  singing  o'er  the  sea. 
Through  love  to  light!  Through  light,  O  God,  to  thee, 
Who  art  the  love  of  love,  the  eternal  light  of  light! 

In  his  next  book  we  have  the  same  general  theme, 
but  it  is  now  lifted  from  the  earthlies  into  the  heav- 
enlies.  It  is  become  in  truth,  as  our  author  entitles 


THE  SPIRITUAL  NOTE  41 

it,  The  Celestial  Passion.  Without  being  in  the 
slightest  degree  theologic  or  dogmatic,  it  is  the 
poetic  conception  and  treatment  of  New  Testament 
love.  Here  we  have  enshrined  and  bodied  forth,  in 
lyrics  of  abiding  beauty  and  truth,  the  love  that  the 
Master  had  in  mind  when  hesaid :  "  Thou  shalt  love 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all 
thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind.  This  is  the  first 
and  great  commandment.  And  the  second  is  like 
unto  it,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself. " 
It  is  the  very  love  that  John  said  was  "the  fulfill 
ing  of  the  law,"  and  that  he  makes  synonymous 
with  God,  for  "God  is  love."  And  still  again  it 
is  the  love  to  which  Paul  gives  the  eminency, 
declaring  it  superior  to  faith  and  hope,  and  which 
he  glorifies  with  all  high  and  holy  qualities  as  he 
joyously  proclaims  that  it  "beareth  all  things, 
believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth 
all  things.  Love  never  faileth."  In  these  and 
other  lyrics  he  has  touched  and  interpreted  the 
whole  range  of  spiritual  yearning  and  aspiration. 
It  is  not  the  present  purpose  further  to  analyze 
or  estimate  Mr.  Gilder's  poetry,  or  assign  to  it  its 
place  in  the  world  of  verse.  That  undoubtedly 
will  be  done  in  due  time  by  more  worthy  and  com 
petent  hands.  Indeed,  it  has  already  been  done 
in  part.  The  task  before  us  is  much  more  limited 
and  simple.  Our  design  is  to  show  how  the  poet 


42  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

has  been  touched  and  influenced,  consciously  or 
otherwise,  by  that  great  body  of  Christian  truth 
that  has  been  the  slow  deposit  of  the  centuries; 
how  he  has  interpreted  and  used  that  truth,  and 
applied  it  to  the  questions  and  yearnings,  the 
hopes  and  fears,  the  doubt  and  faith  of  modern 

life. 

SIN 

The  reality  of  sin,  of  temptation  and  a  tempter, 
is  implicit  in  Christian  thought.  Mr.  Gilder's  is 
not  the  type  of  mind  to  dwell  on  this  phase  of  life 
with  much  of  dogmatism,  detail,  or  definiteness. 
That  he  realizes,  however,  the  shadow  of  sin,  that 
he  understands  the  power  of  the  tempter,  the 
strength  of  temptation,  and  the  blight  that  falls 
on  man's  life  as  he  comes  under  this  baleful  spell, 
is  clearly  evident.  His  "Temptation"  has 
caught  something  of  the  dramatic  imagery  of 
Job,  the  vivid  symbolism  of  Peter's  conception  of 
Satan,  and  the  keen  insight  of  Paul  that  perceived 
and  penetrated  Satanic  hypocrisy  and  disguise: 

Not  alone  in  pain  and  gloom 
Does  the  abhorred  tempter  come; 
Not  in  light  alone  and  pleasure 
Proffers  he  the  poisoned  measure. 
When  the  soul  doth  rise 
Nearest  to  its  native  skies, 
There  the  exalted  spirit  finds 
Borne  upon  the  heavenly  winds 
Satan,  in  an  angel's  guise, 
With  voice  divine  and  innocent  eyes. 


SIN  43 

In  "The  Prisoner's  Thought "  he  has  inter 
preted  for  us  that  subtle  interplay  of  high  and  low, 
of  vice  and  virtue,  of  moral  struggle  with  its  alter 
nations  of  failure  and  success,  that  has  been  the 
theme  and  well-nigh  the  despair  of  many  earnest, 
deep-souled  men.  Amiel  realized  it  when  he 
wrote,  "The  germs  of  all  things  are  in  every 
heart,  and  the  greatest  criminals,  as  well  as  the 
greatest  heroes,  are  but  different  modes  of 
ourselves."  Browning  touched  it  in  "Rabbi 
Ben  Ezra"  when  he  showed  the  discrepancy 
between  thought  and  deed,  between  desire  and 
achievement;  and  Paul  portrayed  it  in  his  letter 
to  the  Romans,  rinding  hope  and  deliverance  in 
Christ  alone.  Gilder's  Prisoner  illustrates  this 
struggle  and  moral  conflict — the  power  of  sin  and 
the  force  of  holiness  striving  for  the  mastery.  One 
moment  he  cries: 

Here  let  me  rot  then — there's  a  taste  one  has 

For  just  the  best  of  all  things,  even  of  sin. 

He's  a  poor  devil  who  in  deepest  hell 

Knows  no  keen  relish  for  the  worst  that  is, — 

The  very  acme  of  in  tensest  pain, — 

Nor  smacks  charred  lips  at  thoughts  of  some  dear  crime 

The  sweetest,  deadliest,  damnablest  of  all. 

Sometimes  I  hug  that  hellish  happiness; 

And  then  a  loathing  falls  upon  my  soul 

For  what  I  was,  and  am,  and  still  must  be. 

The  mood  changes;  the  better  vision  rises  in  his 
eyes;  the  higher  yearning  controls  and  asserts  itself: 


44  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

But  suddenly  my  soul  is  pure  as  yours ; 
My  thoughts  as  clean ;  my  spirit  is  as  free 
As  any  man's,  or  any  purest  woman's. 

Why,  this  my  soul  has  thoughts  that  strike 
Into  the  very  heights  and  depths  of  Heaven. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  man  thus  troubled 
and  tossed,  rinding  himself  by  turns  weak  and 
strong,  alternately  plunged  into  depths  of  despair 
and  lifted  on  the  hilltops  of  hope,  speculates 
whether  or  not,  sometime,  here  or  hereafter, 

The  thinking  part  of  us  we  name  the  soul 

Can  ever  get  away  from  its  old  self; 

Can  wash  the  earth  all  off  from  it,  that  so 

It  really  will  be,  what  I  sometimes  seem — 

As  sinless  as  a  little  child  at  birth, 

With  all  a  woman's  love  for  all  things  pure, 

And  all  a  grown  man's  strength  to  do  the  right? 

The  power  of  love  to  recover  a  man  who  has 
been  caught  in  the  mesh  and  is  bewildered  and 
lost  in  the  maze  of  sin  is  indicated  in  "A  Soul 
Lost,  and  Found."  The  man  of  genius  and 
strength  is  moving  along  the  high  planes  of  life  and 
worthy  work.  His  friends  follow  his  achievements 
with  admiration  and  joy.  To  him  "Life  was  love, 
life  was  art."  But,  alas!  he  slips  and  falls: 

Now  see  the  mire 

Soil  him  and  swallow! 

Heaven !  what  guerdon 

Worth  such  a  cost! 

Love,  art,  life, — lost,  all  lost. 


SIN  45 

Is  there  any  hope  of  restoration,  any  chance  for 
one  who  has  sinned  so  grievously  ?  Yes.  It  is 
the  story  of  the  Prodigal  lifted  into  life  and  hope 
by  the  power  of  love: 

Down  to  the  pallid 

Figure  of  death 

Love's  face  is  pressing; 

Behold  now,  a  moving, 

A  flutter  of  life! 

Forth  from  the  starkness, 

Horror,  and  slime, 

See,  he  doth  climb. 

With  himself  is  the  strife; 

Back  to  the  loving 

From  mire  and  the  darkness, 

Back  to  the  sun! 

He  has  fought — he  has  won. 

Two  of  his  little  poems  breathe,  on  this  general 
theme,  the  very  sentiment  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  In  one  of  them,  "Scorn,"  we  see  the  pity 
and  forbearance  of  the  Master  with  the  sudden, 
outflashing  sin  of  passion,  and  his  severity  and 
scorn  for  the  sin  of  nice  and  selfish  calculation — 
for  the  man  whose  heart  is  bitter  and  black  but 
who  always  manages  to  keep  just  outside  the 
clutches  of  law,  civil  or  religious: 

Who  are  the  men  that  good  men  most  despise? 

Not  they  who,  ill  begot  and  spawned  in  shame, 
Riot  and  rob,  or  rot  before  men's  eyes, — 

Who  basely  live,  and  dying  leave  no  name. 


46  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

He,  only,  is  the  despicable  one 
Who  lightly  sells  his  honor  as  a  shield 

For  fawning  knaves,  to  hide  them  from  the  sun; — 
Too  nice  for  crime,  yet,  coward,  he  doth  yield 

For  crime  a  shelter.     Swift  to  Paradise 

The  contrite  thief,  not  Judas  with  his  price! 

In  the  other,  "On  a  Portrait  of  Servetus,"  we 
are  reminded  that  the  spirit  of  hatred  and  oppo 
sition,  the  persecution  for  righteousness'  sake  that 
Jesus  foresaw,  still  exists,  yea,  and  will  exist. 
The  form  changes,  the  spirit  survives: 

Servetus!  that  which  slew  thee  lives  to-day, 
Though  in  new  forms  it  taints  our  modern  air; 

Still  in  heaven's  name  the  deeds  of  hell  are  done; 

Still  on  the  highroad,  'neath  the  noonday  sun, 
The  fires  of  hate  are  lit  for  them  who  dare 

Follow  their  Lord  along  the  untrodden  way. 

SPIRIT  AND  LIFE 

One  of  the  fundamentals  of  our  faith  is  that 
Christianity  is  a  matter  of  the  inner  life  and  spirit. 
"The  letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life." 
The  form  is  a  matter  of  indifference;  the  motive 
and  purpose  is  the  essence.  Ages  since,  the 
writer  of  Proverbs  saw  this  and  counseled,  "  Keep 
thy  heart  with  all  diligence;  for  out  of  it  are  the 
issues  of  life. "  And  this  also  is  one  of  the  deep 
est  teachings  of  Jesus — a  teaching  that  he  illus 
trated  with  lip  and  life.  "As  a  man  thinketh  in 
his  heart,  so  is  he,"  and  that  richest  of  the  Beati 
tudes,  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart :  for  they  shall 


SPIRIT  AND  LIFE  47 

see  God,"  are  proof  of  this.  In  three  or  four 
exquisite  lyrics  Mr.  Gilder  shows  how  deeply  this 
truth  has  touched  his  thought.  And  one  who 
knows  him  feels  sure  that  with  him  it  is  not  merely 
a  matter  of  the  intellect,  but  a  principle  of  his 
thinking  and  living.  We  note  the  influence  of  this 
truth  in  "Holy  Land."  The  poet  is  there,  at 
least  in  spirit.  He  conceives  and  constructs 
for  himself  the  whole  scene — the  Asian  country, 
the  Judean  hills,  the  Galilean  plains,  mountain, 
river,  sun  and  sea  and  moon — all  so  perfectly 
known  and  familiar  to  the  Man  of  Nazareth,  "who 
did  no  sin,  neither  was  any  guile  found  in  his 
mouth": 

The  air  we  breathe,  he  breathed — the  very  air 
That  took  the  mold  and  music  of  his  high 

And  Godlike  speech.     Since  then  shall  mortal  dare 
With  base  thought  front  the  ever-sacred  sky — 

Soil  with  foul  deed  the  ground  whereon  he  laid 

In  holy  death  his  pale,  immortal  head! 

And  in  the  following  simple  lines  we  see  again 
the  deep  desire  for  life  that  shall  be  true  to  the 
high  trust  given,  without  soil,  or  stain,  or  blemish : 

When  to  sleep  I  must 

Where  my  fathers  sleep; 
When  fulfilled  the  trust, 

And  the  mourners  weep; 
When,  though  free  from  rust, 

Sword  hath  lost  its  worth — 

Let  me  bring  to  earth 
No  dishonored  dust. 


48  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

The  purity  for  which  our  poet  pleads  is  a  purity 
that  controls  the  mind  and  governs  its  output 
in  speech.  As  the  crystal  waters  of  a  purling 
brook  speak  of  a  pure  and  bountiful  source,  so 
the  words  and  images  of  a  man  suggest  the 
character  of  his  "chamber  of  imagery."  Our 
author's  delight  in  mental  cleanness,  in  its  in 
fluence  and  value  to  the  world,  is  evident  when 
he  sings: 

Thy  mind  is  like  a  crystal  brook 

Wherein  clean  creatures  live  at  ease, 

In  sun-bright  waves  or  shady  nook. 

Birds  sing  above  it, 

The  warm-breathed  cattle  love  it, 
It  doth  sweet  childhood  please. 

Accursed  be  he  by  whom  it  were  undone, 

Or  thing  or  thought  whose  presence 
The  birds  and  beasts  would  loathly  shun, 
Would  make  its  crystal  waters  foully  run, 
And  drive  sweet  childhood  from  its  pleasance. 

As  one  reads  this  he  catches  through  the  music 
of  the  lines  the  refrain  of  the  Master's  teaching: 
"But  whoso  shall  offend  one  of  these  little  ones 
which  believe  in  me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a 
millstone  were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  that  he 
were  drowned  in  the  depth  of  the  sea."  But  best 
of  all  these  lyrics  of  purity  is  the  one  we  have  in 
A  Week's  Calendar.  It  is  the  third  in  the  Cal 
endar,  and  is  titled  "  Keep  Pure  Thy  Soul. "  One 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING  49 

is  wise  who  commits  to  memory  this  perfect  gem 
and  repeats  it  as  he  begins  the  work  of  each  day. 
The  very  heart  of  the  New  Testament  teaching 
is  here.  As  the  pure  soul  is  the  fit  and  the  only 
organ  for  the  vision  of  the  Eternal,  so  it  is  the 
medium  through  which  one  can  get,  and  alone 
can  get,  the  deep  delight,  the  perfect  joy,  the 
rich  meaning  of  earth  and  time,  of  heaven  and 
eternity : 

Keep  pure  thy  soul! 

Then  shalt  thou  take  the  whole 

Of  delight; 

Then,  without  a  pang, 

Thine  shall  be  all  of  beauty  whereof  the  poet  sang — 

The  perfume,  and  the  pageant,  the  melody,  the  mirth 

Of  the  golden  day  and  the  starry  night; 

Of  heaven,  and  of  earth. 

Oh,  keep  pure  thy  soul! 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING 

One  of  the  teachings  of  Christianity  touches  the 
mystery  and  meaning  of  suffering  and  pain.  Per 
haps  the  classic  note  of  Christian  thought  is  heard 
in  the  passage  in  Hebrews,  "Now  no  chastening 
for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but  grievous : 
nevertheless  afterward  it  yieldeth  the  peaceable 
fruit  of  righteousness  unto  them  which  are  exer 
cised  thereby/'  And  Paul  is  an  illustrator  of  the 
enriched  influence  and  the  enlarged  efficiency  of 
one  who  allows  himself  to  be  rightly  instructed, 


MTY 


50  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

exercised,  disciplined,  and  developed  by  the  min 
istry  of  pain.  That  all  this  seemingly  dark  and 
bitter  side  of  life  is  an  essential  part  of  God's 
educative  process  cannot  be  well  doubted  by  one 
who  has  studied  the  revelation  of  God  in  literature 
and  in  life.  "It  pleased  God  to  make  the  Cap 
tain  of  our  Salvation  perfect  through  sufferings." 
He  could  not  otherwise  be  perfected.  M.  Charles 
Wagner  truly  says  that  a  suffering  God  is  a  neces 
sity.  Otherwise  man  would  be  greater  and  nobler 
than  God.  It  is  only  a  shallow  and  meager  view 
of  life  that  ignores  pain,  and  suffering,  and  sorrow. 
This  was  the  error  of  much  pagan  philosophy  and 
religion,  and  is  the  error  underlying  a  pseudo-faith 
to-day,  masquerading  under  the  guise  of  a  hyphen 
ated  name,  and  carefully  devised  to  deceive  the 
unwary.  The  contrast  between  this  shallowness 
and  self-deception  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  clear 
and  resolute  vision  of  Christianity  on  the  other,  is 
suggested  by  Mr.  Gilder  in  "Two  Worlds."  In 
the  one  we  see  the  type  that  brushes  aside  all  save 
ease  and  pleasure,  and  external  peace  and  beauty; 
in  the  other,  the  type  that  longs  for  peace  and 
beauty  but  will  not  be  content  save  as  these  are 
grounded  in  eternal  foundations — will  not  waive  or 
blink  any  of  life's  realities,  but  with  all  the  strength 
and  wisdom  of  an  awakened  soul  will  face  the 
problem,  enter  the  thick  darkness,  and  through 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING  51 

turmoil,  and  strife,  and  pain,  and  blood,  fight  its 
way  at  last  to  abiding  peace: 

I.    THE   VENUS    OF   MILO 

Grace,  majesty,  and  the  calm  bliss  of  life; 

No  conscious  war  'twixt  human  will  and  duty; 
Here  breathes,  forever  free  from  pain  and  strife, 

The  old,  untroubled  pagan  world  of  beauty. 

II.  MICHAEL   ANGELO'S    SLAVE 

Of  life,  of  death  the  mystery  and  woe, 

Witness  in  this  mute,  carven  stone  the  whole. 

That  suffering  smile  were  never  fashioned  so 
Before  the  world  had  wakened  to  a  soul. 

The  same  truth  is  taught  in  "The  Gift. "  Here 
Life  comes  and  invites  one  to  a  home  of  pleasure 
rich  in  all  priceless  and  pleasurable  things.  He 
hurries  on  with  eager  feet,  only  to  be  deeply  dis 
appointed  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  way,  but 
abundantly  rejoiced  and  rewarded  at  the  end: 

I  entered  the  oaken  door; 

Within,  no  ray  of  light; 
I  saw  no  golden  store, 

My  heart  stood  still  with  fright; 
To  curse  Life  was  I  fain; 
Then  one  unseen  before 
Laid  in  my  own  her  hand, 
And  said:  "Come  thou  and  know 
This  is  the  House  of  Woe; — 
I  am  Life's  sister,  Pain." 

Through  many  a  breathless  way, 

In  dark,  on  dizzying  height, 
She  led  me  through  the  day 

And  into  the  dreadful  night. 


52  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

My  soul  was  sore  distressed 
And  wildly  I  longed  for  rest; — 
Till  a  chamber  met  my  sight, 
Far  off,  and  hid,  and  still, 
With  diamonds  all  bedight 
And  every  precious  thing; 
Not  even  a  god  might  will 
More  beauty  there  to  bring. 

In  what  seems  to  me  one  of  the  choicest  and 
most  suggestive  of  his  shorter  poems,  "Life  Is  the 
Cost,"  there  is  emphasized,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Impressionists,  the  truth  that  all  worthy  achieve 
ment  is  the  outcome  of  pain  and  sacrifice  and  loss: 

Life  is  the  cost. 
Behold  yon  tower, 
That  heavenward  lifts 
To  the  cloudy  drifts — 
Like  a  flame,  like  a  flower! 
What  lightness,  what  grace, 
What  a  dream  of  power! 
One  last  endeavor 
One  stone  to  place — 
And  it  stands  forever. 

A  Blip,  a  fall; 

A  cry,  a  call; 

Turn  away,  all's  done. 

Stands  the  tower  in  the  sun 

Forever  and  a  day. 

On  the  pavement  below 

The  crimson  stain 

Will  be  worn  away 

In  the  ebb  and  flow; 

The  tower  will  remain. 

Life  is  the  cost. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING  53 

Who  that  reads  it  but  is  reminded  of  the  heroes 
and  heroines  on  "fame's  eternal  beadroll  worthy 
to  be  fyled";  the  great  army  of  the  sacrificial  ones 
who  have  given  themselves  for  the  upbuilding  of 
the  world  and  the  uplifting  of  their  fellows  ?  And 
the  Christian  recalls  the  central  fact  of  his  faith, 
the  attractive  power  of  the  cross  and  Him  of  whom 
it  was  said,  "He  saved  others,  himself  he  cannot 
save."  But  the  fullest  treatment  of  this  theme  is 
found  in  "Non  Sine  Dolore. "  It  is  too  long  to 
quote,  and  yet  it  cannot  be  overlooked  in  the  con 
sideration  of  this  part  of  our  subject.  Our  author 
pushes  the  truth  of  the  purifying,  ennobling,  bliss- 
imparting  mission  of  pain  to  its  furthest  limit; 
implying  in  the  daring  reach  of  his  thought  that  it 
is  even  an  element  in  the  enrichment  and  progress 
of  the  eternal  life!  And  since  God  must  needs  be  a 
suffering  God,  one  who  has  felt  the  woe  and  weight 
of  the  world,  why  may  it  not  be  so  still  ?  Who  will 
dare  deny  that  the  elements  that  make  for  char 
acter  growth  here  may  not  also,  at  least  possibly, 
make  for  like  growth  there  ? — 

Soul  of  man,  oh,  be  thou  bold, 
And  to  the  brink  of  thought  draw  near,  behold! 
Where,  on  the  earth's  green  sod, 
Where,  where  in  all  the  universe  of  God, 
Hath  strife  forever  ceased? 

No  Life  without  a  pang!     It  were  not  Life, 
If  ended  were  the  strife — 


54  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Man  were  not  man,  nor  God  were  truly  God! 

See  from  the  sod 

The  lark  thrill  skyward  in  an  arrow  of  song: 
Even  so  from  pain  and  wrong 
Upsprings  the  exultant  spirit,  wild  and  free. 
He  knows  not  all  the  joy  of  liberty 
Who  never  yet  was  crushed  'neath  heavy  woe. 

No  passing  burden  is  our  earthly  sorrow 
That  shall  depart  in  some  mysterious  morrow. 
Tis  His  one  universe  where'er  we  are — 
One  changeless  law  from  sun  to  viewless  star. 
Were  sorrow  evil  here,  evil  it  were  forever, 
Beyond  the  scope  and  help  of  our  most  keen  endeavor. 

God  doth  not  dote, 
His  everlasting  purpose  shall  not  fail. 
Here  where  our  ears  are  weary  with  the  wail 
And  weeping  of  the  sufferers ;  there  where  the  Pleiads  float- 
Here,  there,  forever,  pain  most  dread  and  dire 
Doth  bring  the  intensest  bliss,  the  dearest  and  most  sure. 
'Tis  not  from  Life  aside,  it  doth  endure 
Deep  in  the  secret  heart  of  all  existence. 
It  is  the  inward  fire, 
The  heavenly  urge,  and  the  divine  insistence. 

Uplift  thine  eyes,  O  Questioner,  from  the  sod! 
It  were  no  longer  Life, 
If  ended  were  the  strife; 
Man  were  not  man,  God  were  not  truly  God. 


GOD   IN   THE   WORLD 

The  Divine  Immanence,  the  conscious  sense 
and  recognition  of  God  as  present,  interested,  and 
active  in  the  world  life,  is  a  truth  that  finds  expres 
sion  in  the  work  of  Mr.  Gilder.  Perhaps  the 
most  elaborate  and  purposeful  depiction  of  this 
is  found  in  "Recognition."  Here  we  find  the 


GOD  IN  THE  WORLD  55 

poet's  conception  and  unfolding  of  the  creation 
story — the  existent  God;  the  forthcoming  from  him 
of  all  forms  of  matter  and  life  in  ever-developing 
types  of  power  and  knowledge,  till  the  summit  is 
reached  in  One  who  is  able  to  know  and  have  kin 
ship  with  the  Creator: 

Then  other  forms  more  fine 
Streamed  ceaseless  on  my  sight,  until  at  last, 
Rising  and  turning  its  slow  gaze  about 
Across  the  abysmal  void,  the  mighty  child 
Of  the  supreme,  divine  Omnipotence — 
Creation,  born  of  God,  by  Him  begot, 
Conscious  in  MAN,  no  longer  blind  and  dumb, 
Beheld  and  knew  its  father  and  its  God. 

The  impossibility  of  fitting  God  into  our  little 
forms,  of  concluding  and  imprisoning  him  in  our 
definitions,  of  keeping  him  within  the  limits  of  one 
sole  faith,  of  making  him  altogether  such  a  one 
as  ourselves — all  this  is  well  set  forth  in  a  stanza 
in  one  of  his  hymns : 

In  myriad  forms,  by  myriad  names, 
Men  seek  to  bind  and  mold  thee; 
But  thou  dost  melt,  like  wax  in  flames, 
The  cords  that  would  enfold  thee. 
Who  madest  life  and  light, 
Bnng'st  morning  after  night, 
Who  all  things  did'st  create — 
No  majesty,  nor  state, 
Nor  word,  nor  world  can  hold  thee! 

How  many  Christians  there  are  who  seem  to  put 
the  best  things  of  their  faith  into  the  far  future; 
who  are  ever  hoping,  and  praying,  and  waiting  for 


56  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

a  better  day,  forgetful  of  the  great  truth  that  God 
is  a  Spirit,  able  to  realize  himself  in  conscious  expe 
rience  now  as  at  any  time.  Nothing  is  clearer  in 
the  gospels  than  Jesus'  sense  of  the  nearness  of  God 
and  consciousness  of  oneness  with  him.  The  possi 
bility  of  this  as  an  experience  for  men  of  to-day  is  a 
teaching  of  Jesus  that  has  been  caught  by  this  poet: 

Heardst  thou  these  wanderers  reasoning  of  a  time 
When  men  more  near  the  Eternal  One  shall  climb? 
How  like  the  newborn  child,  who  cannot  tell 
A  mother's  arm  that  wraps  it  warm  and  well! 
Leaves  of  His  rose ;  drops  in  His  sea  that  flow — 
Are  they,  alas,  so  blind  they  may  not  know 
Here,  in  this  breathing  world  of  joy  and  fear, 
They  can  no  nearer  get  to  God  than  here. 

That  the  world  of  nature  is  a  revelation  of  God, 
a  medium  of  the  Divine  utterance,  is  as  evident  to 
Mr.  Gilder  as  to  the  psalmist.  Indeed,  the  echo 
of  the  nineteenth  psalm  is  most  distinctly  heard 
in  "Day  unto  Day  Uttereth  Speech."  Though 
our  eyes  are  so  dim,  our  ears  so  dull,  our  minds  so 
heavy,  that  we  often  miss  the  voice  and  teaching  of 
God  in  the  ordinary  sights  and  sounds  of  day  and 
night,  yet  such  are  the  suggestions  of  sunrise  and 
sunset  that  here  at  least  we  see  and  hear  and  learn: 

But  when  the  day  doth  close  there  is  one  word 
That's  writ  amid  the  sunset's  golden  embers; 

And  one  at  morn;  by  them  our  hearts  are  stirred: 
Splendor  of  Dawn,  and  Evening  that  remembers; 

These  are  the  rhymes  of  God;  thus,  line  on  line, 

Our  souls  are  moved  to  thoughts  that  are  divine. 


GOD  IN  THE  WORLD  57 

Three  little  poems  give  us  our  author's  sense  of 
the  worth  of  worship  and  devotion.  The  living, 
ever-present  God  is  worthy  of  our  adoration.  It  is 
evident  that  one  who  could  so  write  must  himself 
have  been  deeply  influenced  by  the  Christian  prac 
tice  of  daily  prayer  and  weekly  worship.  The 
value  of  these  Christian  institutions  could  be  so 
felicitously  expressed  only  by  one  who  has  had 
experience  of  that  value : 

a.      TO    REST  FROM    WEARY   WORK 

To  rest  from  weary  work  one  day  of  seven ; 

One  day  to  turn  our  backs  upon  the  world, 
Its  soil  wash  from  us,  and  strive  on  to  Heaven — 

Whereto  we  daily  climb,  but  quick  are  hurled 
Down  to  the  pit  of  human  pride  and  sin. 

Help  me,  ye  powers  celestial!  to  come  nigh; 
Ah,  let  me  catch  one  little  glimpse  within 

The  heavenly  city,  lest  my  spirit  die. 
These  be  my  guides,  my  messengers,  my  friends: 

Books  of  wise  poets;  the  musician's  art; 
The  ocean  whose  deep  music  never  ends; 

The  silence  of  the  forest's  shadowy  heart; 
And,  too,  the  brooding  organ's  solemn  blare, 
And  kneeling  multitudes'  low-murmuring  prayer. 

b.      O    GLORIOUS    SABBATH    SUN 

O  glorious  Sabbath  sun,  thou  art 
A  balm  and  blessing  to  my  heart; 
Dark  sorrow  flies,  and  in  thy  shine 
Bursts  o'er  the  world  a  flood  divine. 

So  may  the  light  beyond  the  skies 
Illume  and  bless  my  inward  eyes, 
That  each  new  day  may  bring  to  me 
The  splendor  of  eternity 


58  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

C.    MORNING  AND  NIGHT 

The  mountain  that  the  morn  doth  kiss 
Glad  greets  its  shining  neighbor; 

Lord!  heed  the  homage  of  our  bliss, 
The  incense  of  our  labor. 

Now  the  long  shadows  eastward  creep, 

The  golden  sun  is  setting; 
Take,  Lord!  the  worship  of  our  sleep, 

The  praise  of  our  forgetting. 

FAITH 

Faith  is  surely  a  foundation  principle  in  Chris 
tianity.  Too  often,  however,  the  emphasis  has 
been  misplaced.  Too  much  it  has  been  insisted 
that  we  must  accept  and  believe  the  dogmas,  and 
creeds,  and  theologies  of  the  Fathers;  that,  too, 
not  specially  because  they  were  true,  but  because 
the  Fathers  believed  them  true.  Not  infrequently 
men  who  believed  in  God,  and  in  Christ,  and  in 
the  Holy  Spirit  have  been  condemned  and  branded 
as  heretics  because,  in  truth,  they  did  not  believe 
some  other  man's  belief  in  or  about  God  and 
Christ  and  the  Holy  Spirit.  Whittier  exposed 
the  fallacy  of  this  sort  of  faith  when  he  wrote: 

I  know  how  well  the  fathers  taught, 
What  work  the  later  schoolmen  wrought; 
I  reverence  old-time  faith  and  men, 
But  God  is  near  us  now  as  then ; 
His  force  of  love  is  still  unspent, 
His  hate  of  sin  as  immanent; 
And  still  the  measure  of  our  needs 
Outgrows  the  cramping  bounds  of  creeds. 

— The  Meeting. 


FAITH  59 

The  faith  that  Christianity  demands  is  faith  in 
the  realities;  faith,  for  example,  in  God  vital, 
active,  and  fatherly,  not  in  some  man's  explana 
tion  or  dogmatism  about  these  things;  faith,  again, 
in  the  atonement,  not  in  some  man's  theory  of  that 
elemental  and  unshakable  fact;  faith  in  the  pres 
ence  and  inspirational  power  of  the  Spirit  to  guide 
and  counsel,  to  comfort,  warn,  and  instruct;  not 
faith  in  some  man's  philosophical  conception  of  the 
relation  of  the  Spirit  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 
Now,  that  Richard  Watson  Gilder  might  not  be 
able  to  subscribe  some  of  the  creeds  of  Christen 
dom  is  probably  true.  It  is  quite  possible  that  if 
put  on  the  rack  of  categorical  questioning  he 
would  not  satisfy  the  critical  judgment  of  some 
synods  or  conferences.  And  this  is  not  said  in 
depreciation  of  the  requirements  of  synod,  or  con 
ference,  or  consistory.  These  have  their  rightful 
function,  and  the  man  who  seeks  such  fellowship 
should  be  able  to  shape  his  belief  in  a  form  of 
expression  conformable  to  the  general  consensus 
of  the  body  with  which  he  would  unite.  Mr. 
Gilder  is  no  acceptor  of  a  secondhand  faith.  He 
cannot  take  the  creeds,  and  beliefs,  and  forms  of 
other  men  and  other  days,  and  make  them  his  own, 
without  at  least  deep  and  careful  investigation. 
Before  he  can  say, "I  believe,"  the  belief  confessed 
must  first  of  all  compel  his  judgment  and  constrain 


60  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

his  heart.     This  phase  of  the  truth  he  has  set 
forth  vividly  in  "Credo": 

How  easily  my  neighbor  chants  his  creed, 

Kneeling  beside  me  in  the  House  of  God. 

His  "I  believe"  he  chants,  and  "I  believe," 

With  cheerful  iteration  and  consent — 

Watching  meantime  the  white,  slow  sunbeam  move 

Across  the  aisle,  or  listening  to  the  bird 

Whose  free,  wild  song  sounds  through  the  open  door. 

Thou  God  supreme — I  too,  I  too,  believe! 
But  oh!    forgive  if  this  one  human  word, 
Binding  the  deep  and  breathless  thought  of  thee 
And  my  own  conscience  with  an  iron  band, 
Stick  in  my  throat.     I  cannot  say  it,  thus — 
This  "I  believe"  that  doth  thyself  obscure; 
This  rod  to  smite ;  this  barrier ;  this  blot 
On  thy  most  unimaginable  face 
And  soul  of  majesty. 

'Tis  not  man's  faith 

In  thee  that  he  proclaims  in  echoed  phrase, 
But  faith  in  man ;  faith  not  in  thine  own  Christ, 
But  in  another  man's  dim  thought  of  him. 


But  that  Mr.  Gilder  has  a  firm  and  true  faith 
in  the  essential  elements  of  our  general  Christianity 
cannot  well  be  doubted  by  any  careful  and  sym 
pathetic  student  of  his  writings.  Perhaps  the 
completest  expression  of  his  attitude,  of  the  tem 
per  of  his  mind,  and  of  the  genuineness  and 
fearlessness  of  his  faith,  is  found  in  the  poem  "  In 
Palestine": 


FAITH  61 

Ah  no!  that  sacred  land, 

Where  fell  the  wearied  feet  of  the  lone  Christ, 

Robs  not  the  soul  of  faith.     I  shall  set  down 

The  thought  was  in  my  heart.     If  that  hath  lost 

Aught  of  its  child-belief,  'twas  long  ago, 

Not  there  in  Palestine;  and  if  'twere  lost, 

He  were  a  coward  who  should  fear  to  lose 

A  blind,  hereditary,  thoughtless  faith, — 

Comfort  of  fearful  minds,  a  straw  to  catch  at 

On  the  deep-gulfed  and  tempest-driven  sea. 

Full  well  I  know  how  shallow  spirits  lack 
The  essence,  flinging  from  them  but  the  form; 
I  have  seen  souls  lead  barren  lives  and  cursed, — 
Bereft  of  light,  and  all  the  grace  of  life, — 
Because  for  them  the  inner  truth  was  lost 
In  the  frail  symbol — hated,  shattered,  spurned. 

But  faith  that  lives  forever  is  not  bound 
To  any  outward  semblance,  any  scheme 
Fine-wrought  of  human  wonder,  or  self-love, 
Or  the  base  fear  of  never-ending  pain. 
True  faith  doth  face  the  blackness  of  despair, — 
Blank  faithlessness  itself;  bravely  it  holds 
To  duty  unrewarded  and  unshared; 
It  loves  where  all  is  loveless;  it  endures 
In  the  long  passion  of  the  soul  for  God. 

Lest  anyone  should  think  this  man  a  careless 
and  flippant  iconoclast,  casting  aside  things  old 
and  reverend  without  due  consideration,  let  me 
call  attention  to  the  lines  "Despise  Not  Thou." 
Here  we  see  how  the  poet  recognizes  and  holds  to 
the  good  and  true  in  the  ancient  forms  and  creeds. 
A  thing  is  not  always  true  because  it  is  new,  nor 
worthless  because  it  comes  freighted  with  the 
fragrance  and  faith  of  the  past.  Without  doubt 


62  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

the  memory  of  his  father's  faith,  and  of  the  noble 
and  useful  life  that  was  the  rich  fruitage  of  that 
faith,  has  steadied  and  sobered  him,  and  has  kept 
him  grounded  in  the  fundamentals  the  while  he 
has  been  free  and  open  to  the  change  of  form 
necessitated  by  the  growth  of  human  thought  and 
experience: 

Despise  not  them  thy  father's  ancient  creed; 

Of  his  pure  life  it  was  the  golden  thread 
Whereon  bright  days  were  gathered,  bead  by  bead, 

Till  death  laid  low  that  dear  and  reverend  head. 
From  olden  faith  how  many  a  glorious  deed 

Hath  lit  the  world;  its  blood-stained  banner  led 
The  martyrs  heavenward ;  yea,  it  was  the  seed 

Of  knowledge,  whence  our  modern  freedom  spread. 
Not  always  has  man's  credo  proved  a  snare — 

But  a  deliverance,  a  sign,  a  flame 
To  purify  the  dense  and  pestilent  air, 

Writing  on  pitiless  heavens  one  pitying  name; 
And  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  dread  eclipse 
It  shines  on  dying  eyes  and  pallid  lips. 

CHRIST 

Christianity  concretes  itself  in  Christ.  He  is  the 
Father's  complete  and  final  unveiling.  Thought 
about  him  is  definitive,  attitude  toward  him  is 
final.  As  Whittier  says: 

Alone,  O  Love  ineffable! 

Thy  saving  name  is  given; 
To  turn  aside  from  thee  is  hell, 

To  walk  with  thee  is  heaven  1 

Now,  the  influence  of  Christ  is  probably  the 
most  evident  thing  in  the  writings  of  this  poet.  In 


CHRIST  63 

some  way  he  has  touched  practically  all  the  vital 
facts  in  his  life,  and  with  a  depth  of  feeling  and  an 
intensity  of  passion  that  reveal  his  personal  atti 
tude.  His  faith  in  the  "Christ  of  Judea"  never 
falters  or  wavers.  He  notes  the  varying  views  of 
men  concerning  the  Man  of  Galilee;  and  however 
he  is  conceived,  whether  as  Divine,  or  human,  or 
Divine-human,  he  is  still,  in  our  poet's  thought, 
"the  one  altogether  lovely  and  the  chiefest  among 
ten  thousand."  Following  him  is  the  only  ra 
tional  attitude  and  purpose  of  the  life;  fealty 
and  devotion  to  him  the  supremest  wisdom, 
and  the  way  into  the  experience  of  the  highest 
good.  Nearly  all  the  salient  features  of  the 
Christ  life  have  some  way  been  touched  and  de 
picted  by  his  ever-brooding  thought  and  always- 
busy  pen: 

What  babe  newborn  is  this  that  in  a  manger  cries? 
Near  on  her  lowly  bed  his  happy  mother  lies. 
O,  see,  the  air  is  shaken  with  white  and  heavenly  wings — 
This  is  the  Lord  of  all  the  earth,  this  is  the  King  of  kings ! 

Such  incidents  as  the  driving  out  of  the  money 
changers  from  the  temple,  and  the  supper  at 
Emmaus,  with  their  spiritual  suggestions,  hold  his 
thought  and  compel  embodiment  in  enduring 
verse.  The  atoning  power  of  sacrifice  and  death 
is  suggested  in  the  lines  previously  quoted,  "Life 
Is  the  Cost,"  while  in  a  little  verse  entitled  "Cost" 


64  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

the  power  and  influence  of  Christ's  sacrifice  is 
vividly  unfolded: 

Because  Heaven's  cost  is  Hell,  and  perfect  joy 
Hurts  as  hurts  sorrow;  and  because  we  win 
Some  boon  of  grace  with  the  dread  cost  of  sin, 

Or  suffering  born  of  sin;  because  the  alloy 

Of  blood  but  makes  the  bliss  of  victory  brighter; 
Because  true  worth  hath  surest  proof  herein, 
That  it  should  be  reproached,  and  called  akin 

To  evil  things — black  making  white  the  whiter; 

Because  no  cost  seems  great  near  this — that  He 
Should  pay  the  ransom  wherewith  we  were  priced ; 

And  none  could  name  a  darker  infamy 
Than  that  a  God  was  spit  upon, — enticed 

By  those  he  came  to  save,  to  the  accursed  tree, — 
For  this  I  know  that  Christ  indeed  is  Christ. 

In  "Easter"  we  have  a  specific  treatment  of 
the  Resurrection,  while  in  two  contrasted  poems, 
"Egypt"  and  "Syria,"  we  have  an  illustration 
of  the  vitalizing  quality  of  the  risen  Christ  set 
over  against  the  dull  and  hopeless  faith  of  pagan 
ism.  In  Egypt  the  mighty  monuments,  the  empty 
tombs,  the  elaborate  housings  of  the  dead,  all  the 
honor  paid  to  and  all  the  care  and  thought  lav 
ished  upon  the  dead,  fill  our  poet  with  the  sense 
of  the  reality,  the  pervasiveness,  and  the  power 
of  Death: 

Not  here  the  Dead,  but  Death:  alone,  supreme; 
In  Egypt  death  was  real — life,  a  winged  dream. 

In    Syria  the  reverse  is  true;   the  empty  tomb, 
the  very  lack  of  monuments  and  memorials,  the 


CHRIST  65 

absence  of  tribute  to  the  power  of  death,  all  these 
suggest  that  death  is  only  a  phase  of  life : 

I  thought  in  Syria,  Life  was  more  than  Death. 

A  tomb  there  was  forsaken  of  its  dead, 

But  Death  filled  not  the  place ;  here  with  bowed  head 

Worships  the  world  forever  at  the  tread 
Of  one  who  lived,  who  liveth,  and  shall  live, — 

Whose  grave  is  but  a  footstep  on  the  sod ; 

Men  kiss  the  ground  where  living  feet  have  trod. 
Here  not  to  Death,  but  Life,  they  worship  give. 

August  is  Death,  but  this  one  tomb  is  rife 

With  a  more  mighty  presence ;  it  is  Life. 

If  our  author  believes  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
body,  it  is  hardly  of  the  body  as  we  know  it. 
Rather,  I  think,  he  is  touched  and  influenced  by 
that  suggestive  and  shadowy  phrase  of  Paul's, 
"There  is  a  natural  body,  and  there  is  a  spiritual 
body. "  And  it  is  this  latter  that  Mr.  Gilder  seems 
to  believe  shall  come  forth  to  the  light  and  glory 
of  the  eternal  day.  In  his  little  volume,  In  Pales 
tine,  two  poems,  "Resurrection"  and  "As  Soars 
the  Eagle,"  seem  fairly  to  establish  this  view. 
In  a  sense  they  are  complementary.  In  the  first 
noted,  the  disembodied  spirit  comes  back  to  the 
body  only  to  find  itself  limited,  cabined,  cribbed, 
and  hampered: 

Overwhelmed  was  my  soul  with  its  shackles;  I  grieved,  I 

lamented 
As  a  prisoner  dragged  back  to  his  cell,  as  an  eagle  recaptured. 

In    the   second,    the   released    and    disembodied 
spirit  fares  forth  into  the  eternal  morning  with 


66  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

the  joy  and  freedom  of  the  eagle,  soaring  in  the 
sun's  eye : 

Child  of  Him,  the  untrembling  One, 
Oh,  prove  thee  worthy  of  thy  birth! 

Let  no  ill  betray  thee! 
Let  no  death  dismay  thee! 

The  eagle  seeks  the  sky, 

Nor  fears  the  infinite  light; 

Thus,  soul  of  mine,  escape  the  night 

And  'gainst  the  morning  fly ! 

We  come  now  to  a  series  of  poems  in  "The 
Celestial  Passion,"  in  "Lyrics,"  and  elsewhere  in 
his  writings  that  show  the  surpassing  influence 
on  Mr.  Gilder's  thought  of  the  thought  and  life  of 
Christ.  If  we  may  judge  by  his  writings,  the 
Christ  is  the  commanding  figure  in  our  poet's 
spiritual  vision.  His  faith  is  faith  in  Christ;  his 
hope  is  hope  in  Christ;  his  life  is  life  in  Christ.  And 
this  Christ  is  not  merely  temporal  and  transient, 
the  Christ  of  a  day  or  an  age  or  a  people;  he  is  for 
all  ages  and  all  people.  Without  doubt  Mr. 
Gilder  would  subscribe  Principal  Shairp's  mag 
nificent  sonnet: 

Subtlest  thought  shall  fail  and  learning  falter, 
Churches  change,  forms  perish,  systems  go, 

But  our  human  needs  they  will  not  alter, 
Christ  no  after  age  shall  e'er  outgrow. 

Yea,  Amen  I  O  changeless  One.    Thou  only 

Art  life's  guide  and  spiritual  goal, 
Thou  the  light  across  the  dark  vale  lonely, — 

Thou  the  eternal  haven  of  the  soul. 


CHRIST  67 

In  "The  Passing  of  Christ"  Mr.  Gilder  con 
siders  the  phase  of  modern  thought  that  would 
displace  and  dethrone  Christ  because  of  the  new 
discoveries  in  the  physical  realm  and  the  new 
interpretations  in  the  intellectual  realm.  Because 
of  these  it  is  claimed  that  the  place  and  power  of 
Christ  is  waning  in  human  affairs.  The  attitude 
of  the  objector  and  detractor  is  vividly  portrayed 
in  thought  and  language  that  will  repay  care 
ful  study.  Indeed,  the  whole  poem  should  be 
read  and  reread.  We  quote  the  poet's  reply 
to  the  objections  and  questions  that  have  been 
raised  • 

Ah  no!     If  the  Christ  you  mean 

Shall  pass  from  this  time,  this  scene, 

These  hearts,  these  lives  of  ours, 

'Tis  but  as  the  summer  flowers 

Pass,  but  return  again, 

To  gladden  a  world  of  men. 

For  he — the  only,  the  true — 

In  each  age,  in  each  waiting  heart, 
Leaps  into  life  anew; 

Though  he  pass,  he  shall  not  depart. 

Behold  him  now  where  he  comes! 

Not  the  Christ  of  our  subtile  creeds, 
But  the  lord  of  our  hearts,  of  our  homes, 

Of  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  needs; 
The  brother  of  want  and  blame, 

The  lover  of  women  and  men, 
With  a  love  that  puts  to  shame 

All  passions  of  mortal  ken; — 


68  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Ah  no,  thou  life  of  the  heart, 
Never  shalt  thou  depart! 
Not  till  the  leaven  of  God 
Shall  lighten  each  human  clod; 
Not  till  the  world  shall  climb 
To  thy  height  serene,  sublime, 
Shall  the  Christ  who  enters  our  door 
Pass  to  return  no  more. 

If  one  would  know  the  poet's  personal  thought 
and  feeling  for  Christ  he  must  read  "Credo." 
While  one  reads  it  is  well  to  remember  that  Mr. 
Gilder  does  not  write  mechanically,  nor  always 
for  publication.  As  has  been  elsewhere  said, 
poetry  is  the  manner  in  which  he  expresses  his 
thoughts  and  convictions.  "Credo"  was  thus 
written.  Indeed,  for  considerable  time  it  was 
withheld  from  publication  as  being  something 
too  intimate  and  personal  for  the  public  eye. 
We  may  well  be  thankful  that  these  scruples  were 
overcome,  and  that  the  poem  is  now  a  public 
possession.  It  is  a  fit  vehicle  for  the  expression 
of  many  a  man's  faith  and  desire: 

Christ  of  Judea,  look  thou  in  my  heart! 
Do  I  not  love  thee,  look  to  thee,  in  thee 
Alone  have  faith  of  all  the  sons  of  men — 
Faith  deepening  with  the  weight  and  woe  of  years. 

Pure  soul  and  tenderest  of  all  that  came 
Into  this  world  of  sorrow,  hear  my  prayer: 

Lead  me,  yea,  lead  me  deeper  into  life, 

This  suffering,  human  life  wherein  thou  liv'st 

And  breathest  still,  and  hold'st  thy  way  divine. 


CHRIST  69 

'Tis  here,  O  pitying  Christ,  where  thee  I  seek, 
Here  where  the  strife  is  fiercest;  where  the  sun 
Beats  down  upon  the  highway  thronged  with  men, 
And  in  the  raging  mart.     Oh!  deeper  lead 
My  soul  into  the  living  world  of  souls 
Where  thou  dost  move. 

But  lead  me,  Man  Divine, 
Where'er  thou  will'st,  only  that  I  may  find 
At  the  long  journey's  end  thy  image  there, 
And  grow  more  like  to  it. 

He  hears  the  wordy  conflict  concerning  the 
nature  of  Christ,  human  or  divine;  but  the  "strife 
of  tongues"  does  not  disturb  the  serenity  or  the 
security  of  his  faith.  Well  he  knows  that  the 
Christ  life  is  the  one  supreme  and  supremely  per 
fect  type  and  example,  and  that  the  life  lived  in 
unfaltering  obedience  and  fealty  and  love  cannot 
fail  of  the  everlasting  habitations: 

But  were  he  man, 

And  death  ends  all;  then  was  that  tortured  death 
On  Calvary  a  thing  to  make  the  pulse 
Of  memory  quail  and  stop. 

The  blackest  thought 

The  human  brain  may  harbor  comes  that  way. 
Face  that, — face  all, — yet  lose  not  hope  nor  heart! 
One  perfect  moment  in  the  life  of  love, 
One  deed  wherein  the  soul  unselfed  gleams  forth, — 
These  can  outmatch  all  ill,  all  doubt,  all  fear, 
And  through  the  encompassing  burden  of  the  world 
Burn  swift  the  spirit's  pathway  to  its  God. 

And  the  same  firm  and  sure  purpose  to  accept 
and  follow  Christ  whatever  may  be  the  philosophic 


;o  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

interpretation  or  the  intellectual  belief  about  him 
is  voiced  in  what  is  perhaps  the  best  known  of 
these  lyrics : 

If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  man, — 

And  only  a  man, — I  say 
That  of  all  mankind  I  cleave  to  him, 

And  to  him  will  I  cleave  alway. 

If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  God, — 

And  the  only  God, — I  swear 
I  will  follow  Him  through  heaven  and  hell, 

The  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  air! 

— The  Song  of  a  Heathen. 

If  a  "Heathen,"  with  his  pagan  traditions, 
with  his  imperfect  knowledge,  can  make  such  a 
determination  as  that,  what  ought  to  be  the  pur 
pose  and  achievement  of  those  of  us  who  believe 
that  Peter  uttered  the  fundamental  and  the  final 
confession  when  he  said,  "Thou  art  the  Christ, 
the  Son  of  the  living  God"! 

IMMORTALITY 

The  last  section  of  "The  Celestial  Passion" 
deals  with  Job's  question — the  question  of  every 
earnest  and  thoughtful  soul:  "If  a  man  die,  shall 
he  live  again?"  And  in  dealing  with  this  ques 
tion  the  Christian  truth  of  personal  immortality 
is  most  clearly  and  beautifully  emphasized.  I 
hardly  know  where  one  would  find  in  any  single 
poet  a  better  body  of  verse  dealing  with  this  great 
truth  than  can  be  found  in  these  little  volumes  of 


IMMORTALITY  71 

Mr.  Gilder's.  Take  the  lyric  with  which  this 
special  series  begins;  how  chaste  and  noble  and 
inspiring  it  is  in  every  line! — 

Three  messengers  to  me  from  heaven  came 

And  said:  "There  is  a  deathless  human  soul; — 
It  is  not  lost,  as  is  the  fiery  flame 

That  dies  into  the  undistinguished  whole. 
Ah,  no;  it  separate  is,  distinct  as  God — 

Nor  any  more  than  He  can  it  be  killed ; 
Then  fearless  give  thy  body  to  the  clod, 

For  naught  can  quench  the  light  that  once  it  filled!" 

Three  messengers — the  first  was  human  LOVE; 

The  second  voice  came  crying  in  the  night 
With  strange  and  awful  music  from  above ; 

None  who  have  heard  that  voice  forget  it  quite ; 
BIRTH  is  it  named;  the  third,  O,  turn  not  pale! 
'Twas  DEATH  to  the  undying  soul  cried,  Hail! 

— The  Soul. 

It  is  not  a  vague,  general,  diffused,  and  imper 
sonal  immortality  that  he  believes  in,  but  a  life 
personal,  personally  recognizable,  and  recognizing 
its  own  identity: 

Nor  shall  they  in  vast  nature  be  undone 

And  lost  in  general  life.     Each  separate  heart 
Shall  live,  and  find  its  own,  and  never  die. 

And  so  to  him,  as  indeed  to  the  prophets  and 
seers  of  every  age,  death  is  not  an  end,  it  is  only 
a  beginning;  it  is  not  bondage,  but  freedom;  it  is 
not  loneliness,  but  congenial  companionship;  it  is 
not  cessation  of  effort,  but  increased  and  better 


72  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

activity.  He  never  moans  or  complains  as  Heine 
does,  "O  God,  how  ugly  bitter 'tis  to  die!"  nor 
ever  imagines  that  the  future  holds  no  better 
fate  than  to  "Pine  away  a  blessed  nothing  in  the 
cold  halls  of  Heaven."  Heaven  is  not  cold,  but 
warm  with  the  joy  and  cheer  of  love,  of  fellow 
ship,  and  of  service: 

Call  me  not  dead  when  I,  indeed,  have  gone 
Into  the  company  of  the  everliving 
High  and  most  glorious  poets!     Let  thanksgiving 
Rather  be  made.     Say:  "He  at  last  hath  won 

Rest  and  release,  converse  supreme  and  wise, 
Music  and  song  and  light  of  immortal  faces ; 
To-day,  perhaps,  wandering  in  starry  places, 

and  listening  still 
To  chanted  hymns  that  sound  from  the  heavenly  hill. " 

The  lovely  lyric  in  which  he  commemorates 
the  death  of  Browning  (who  warned  his  friends 
never  to  say  of  him  that  he  was  dead)  is  germane 
to  this  subject,  and  is  so  brief  and  beautiful,  so  pure 
and  perfect,  so  simple  and  sincere  a  tribute,  that  it 
must  not  be  omitted : 

On  this  day  Browning  died? 
Say,  rather:   On  the  tide 

That  throbs  against  those  glorious  palace  walls; 
That  rises — pauses — falls 

With  melody  and  myriad-tinted  gleams; 

On  that  enchanted  tide, 

Half  real,  and  half  poured  from  lovely  dreams, 
A  soul  of  Beauty, — a  white,  rhythmic  flame, — 
^assed  singing  forth  into  the  Eternal  Beauty  whence 
it  came. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THE  ACTUAL  73 

And  where  will  you  find  the  universal  hope 
expressed  with  more  of  reverent  reticence,  with 
greater  delicacy  of  expression,  with  fuller  feeling 
of  passionate  ardor,  than  in  the  closing  lines  of 
"The  Celestial  Passion"?  —  lines  that  are  in 
truth  a  prayer,  the  outbreathing  of  the  deep 
yearning  for  immortality  that  is,  after  all,  the 
greatest  need,  the  highest  hope,  and  the  most 
precious  possession  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
Almighty  God: 

O  Lord  of  Light,  steep  thou  our  souls  in  thee! 

That  when  the  daylight  trembles  into  shade, 
And  falls  the  silence  of  mortality, 

And  all  is  done,  we  shall  not  be  afraid, 
But  pass  from  light  to  light ;  from  earth's  dull  gleam 
Into  the  very  heart  and  heaven  of  our  dream. 

THE  IDEAL  IN  THE  ACTUAL 
It  has  been  elsewhere  said  that  Mr.  Gilder  is 
not  merely  a  singer,  but  a  worker;  not  only  an 
idealist,  but  also  one  who  constantly  strives  to 
embody  his  ideals  in  the  realities  of  daily  life. 
Many  of  his  lyrics  are  brief  "In  Memoriams"  of 
the  men  who  have  helped  to  lift  the  world  to  its 
highest  levels  and  to  send  it  swiftening  on  the  way 
toward  the  realization  of  the  Divine  "purpose 
and  intent."  His  latest  volume,  In  the  Heights, 
as  its  title  indicates,  is  a  call  to  men  to  live  the 
higher  life.  Not  in  selfish  isolation  or  pride  of 
supposed  superiority,  but  by  the  embodiment  of 


74  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

the  finest  ideals  of  manhood  in  the  life  of  the 
home,  the  street,  and  the  shop,  is  the  world  to  be 
ennobled.  Society,  civics,  commerce,  religion 
must  all  be  lifted  to  the  heights  of  unselfish  and 
helpful  service.  One  hears  this  call  sounding  out 
from  many  of  his  lyrics,  but  in  none  more  clearly 
than  in  the  hymn  written  and  sung  at  the  service 
held  a  few  years  since  in  memory  of  Dr.  J.  L.  M. 
Curry,  and  eminently  in  the  poem  written  in  mem 
ory  of  John  Wesley  and  read  by  Mr.  Gilder  at 
the  Wesley  Bicentennial  Celebration  at  Wesleyan 
University,  Middletown,  Connecticut,  in  June, 
1903.  Here  is  an  ideal  to  inspire  and  hearten  all 
those  who  truly  hope  and  surely  look  for  the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  prayer  of  Jesus,  "  Thy  kingdom  come. 
Thy  will  be  done  in  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven": 

In  those  clear,  piercing,  piteous  eyes  behold 
The  very  soul  that  over  England  flamed ! 
Deep,  pure,  intense;  consuming  shame  and  ill; 
Convicting  men  of  sin;  making  faith  live; 
And, — this  the  mightiest  miracle  of  all, — 
Creating  God  again  in  human  hearts. 

Let  not   that  image   fade 
Ever,  O  God!  from  out  the  minds  of  men, 
Of  him  thy  messenger  and  stainless  priest, 
In  a  brute,  sodden,  and  unfaithful  time, 
Early  and  late,  o'er  land  and  sea,  on-driven; 
In  youth,  in  eager  manhood,  age  extreme, — 
Driven  on  forever,  back  and  forth  the  world, 
By  that  divine,  omnipotent  desire — 
The  hunger  and  the  passion  for  men's  souls! 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THE  ACTUAL  75 

Dear  God! 

Thy  servant  never  knew  one  selfish  hour! 
How  are  we  shamed,  who  look  upon  a  world 
Ages  afar  from  that  true  kingdom  preached 
Millenniums  ago  in  Palestine! 

Send  us,  again,  O  Spirit  of  all  Truth! 
High  messengers  of  dauntless  faith  and  power 
Like  him  whose  memory  this  day  we  praise, 
We  cherish  and  we  praise  with  burning  hearts. 
Let  kindle,  as  before,  from  his  bright  torch, 
Myriads  of  messengers  aflame  with  thee 
To  darkest  places  bearing  light  divine! 


Increase  thy  prophets,  Lord!     Give  strength  to  smite 
Shame  to  the  heart  of  luxury  and  sloth! 
Give  them  the  yearning  after  human  souls 
That  burned  in  Wesley's  breast!     Through  them,  great 

God! 

Teach  poverty  it  may  be  rich  in  thee; 
Teach  riches  the  true  wealth  of  thine  own  Spirit. 
To  our  loved  land,  Celestial  Purity! 
Bring  back  the  meaning  of  those  ancient  words, — 
Not  lost  but  soiled,  and  darkly  disesteemed, — 
The  ever-sacred  names  of  husband,  wife, 
And  the  great  name  of  Love, — whereon  is  built 
The  temple  of  human  happiness  and  hope! 
Baptize  with  holy  wrath  thy  prophets,  Lord! 
By  them  purge  from  us  this  corruption  foul 
That  seizes  on  our  civic  governments, 
Crowns  the  corrupter  in  the  sight  of  men, 
And  makes  him  maker  of  laws,  and  honor's  source! 

Help  us,  in  memory  of  the  sainted  dead, 
Help  us,  O  Heaven!  to  frame  a  nobler  state, 
In  nobler  lives  rededicate  to  thee : — 
Symbol  and  part  of  the  large  brotherhood 
Of  man  and  nations ;  one  in  one  great  love, 
True  love  of  God,  which  is  the  love  of  man, 
In  sacrifice  and  mutual  service  shown, 


76  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

Let  kindle,  as  before,  O  Heavenly  Lightl 
New  messengers  of  righteousness,  and  hope, 
And  courage,  for  our  day!     So  shall  the  world 
That  ever,  surely,  climbs  to  thy  desire 
Grow  swifter  toward  thy  purpose  and  intent. 

Amiel,  the  Genevan  mystic,  writes:  "The 
ideal  is  poison  unless  it  be  fused  with  the  real,  and 
the  real  becomes  corrupt  without  the  perfume 
of  the  ideal."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
ideal  herein  sketched,  and  finding  abundant  illus 
tration  in  the  work  and  writings  of  Mr.  Gilder, 
will  also  find  practical  embodiment  in  the  lives  of 
all  those  who  are  glad  to  acknowledge  inspiration 
and  motive,  not  only  from  Wesley's  life  and 
words,  but  from  the  life  and  words  of  Wesley's 
Lord  and  Master — Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  Christ 
of  God,  who  went  about  doing  good. 


EDWIN    MARKHAM 


77 


Am  I  my  brother's  keeper? — Cain. 

Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye 
even  so  to  them. — Jesus. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH 

WHEN  one  becomes  interested  in  what  a  man 
says  he  is  naturally  interested  in  the  man  him 
self.  The  life  story  is  of  value  as  an  aid  in  inter 
preting  the  life  work.  One  cannot  talk  long  with 
Edwin  Markham  without  being  impressed  with 
his  intellectual  virility.  His  mind  is  rich  in  ideas. 
The  crude  material  out  of  which  philosophies, 
poems,  paintings,  and  social  passions  are  fash 
ioned  is  surely  here,  and  here  in  abundance. 
One  is  not  surprised  to  learn  that  his  is  a  sturdy 
ancestry — intellectual  and  moral.  On  his  father's 
side  the  lineage  runs  back  to  Colonel  William 
Markham,  first  cousin  and  secretary  to  William 
Penn,  and  later  acting-governor  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  closely  associated  with  Lord  Baltimore  in 
important  territorial  matters.  The  maternal  line, 
through  the  Winchells,  springs  out  of  the  best 
Puritan  stock  of  New  and  Old  England  and  Hol 
land.  Many  of  the  representatives  of  the  family 
can  be  traced  among  the  notable  figures  in  Holland, 
England,  and  Colonial  America. 

Our  author  was  born  in  Oregon,  in  1852, 
whither  his  pioneer  parents  had  come  from  the 
plains  of  Michigan.  His  father  dying  when  the 

79 


8o  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

boy  was  little  more  than  four  years  old,  we  find 
him  somewhat  later  living  with  his  mother  in  one 
of  the  remote  and  romantic  valleys  of  California. 
His  early  companions  were  his  mother,  a  woman 
of  silent  and  inflexible  character,  restrained  rather 
than  effusive,  and  a  brother  deaf  and  dumb. 
Under  these  circumstances  the  lad  was  naturally 
dependent  largely  upon  himself.  His  communion 
must  have  been  for  the  most  part  with  nature,  and 
with  his  inner  self.  The  years  of  mental  brooding, 
while  he  followed  the  cattle  or  folded  the  sheep, 
developed  depth,  originality  of  thought,  and  later 
of  theme  and  its  expression.  These  are  the  days 
in  his  thought  the  while  he  sings: 

When  darkened  hours  come  crowding  fast. 

A  thought — and  all  the  dark  is  past ! 

For  I  am  back  a  boy  again, 

Knee-deep  in  heading  barley  in  the  Esmeralda  glen. 

How  often  when  the  brood  of  care 

Would  hold  me  in  a  hopeless  snare, 

My  soul  springs  winged  and  away, 

Remembering  that  wild  ducks  nest  above  Benicia  bay! 

Or  when  night  finds  me  toiling  still, 
I  am  back  again  on  the  greening  hill, 
A  shepherd  boy  at  set  of  sun, 

Folding  his  happy  sheep  and  knowing  all  his  tasks  are  done. 

— The  Heart's  Return. 

His  gift  of  song  is  partly  an  inheritance,  for  his 
mother  was  a  constant  reader  of  Byron  and  Moore, 
and  was  the  local  poetess  of  the  neighborhood  in 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  81 

which  she  lived.  Her  verses  were  frequently 
found  in  the  papers  of  that  region  and  time. 
The  first  money  that  the  boy  earned  was  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  plowing  a  neighbor's  field; 
and  it  is  significant  of  the  mother's  sense  of 
justice  that  though  the  money  was  much  needed 
in  the  home,  yet  when  starting  for  town  one  day 
she  told  the  boy  that  the  money  was  his,  and  that 
he  could  have  whatever  he  wished  to  buy  with  it. 
And  it  is  surely  significant  of  the  trend  of  the  boy's 
thought  that  at  that  early  age  (about  fifteen  or 
sixteen)  his  asking  was  for  Webster's  Unabridged 
Dictionary  and  the  poems  of  Tennyson,  Bryant, 
and  Moore!  It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  use  to 
which  he  put  these  precious  volumes  in  the  leisure 
that  was  his  in  the  peaceful  and  sunny  Suisun 
Valley  where  he  cared  for  the  flocks  and  herds.  He 
had  only  slight  chance  for  technical  schooling — 
about  three  months  in  the  year,  and  not  always  that 
— but  he  read  and  studied  diligently,  and  made  the 
best  use  of  whatever  books  came  his  way.  Also 
he  worked  and  earned  and  saved  in  such  various 
ways  as  an  ambitious  boy  always  can  find,  until 
at  eighteen  he  entered  the  State  Normal  School 
at  San  Jose,  and  later  finished  his  school  work  at 
Christian  College,  Santa  Rosa,  California.  Be 
lieving  also  in  the  value  of  handicraft,  he  mas 
tered  the  secrets  of  blacksmithing  and  wrought  at 


82  EDWIN   MARKHAM 

the  forge  with  conscientious  zeal.  But  men  of 
intellectual  vigor  and  fair  training  were  not  so 
plentiful  in  California  that  he  could  be  permitted  to 
remain  at  the  forge.  The  University  of  California 
realized  his  worth  and  placed  him  in  charge  of  the 
Tompkins  Observation  School  of  Oakland,  where 
he  remained  till  his  relinquishment  of  technical 
teaching  for  service  in  the  higher  school  of  litera 
ture.  In  this  brief  note  one  other  trait  of  Edwin 
Markham  should  be  mentioned.  His  friend  and 
neighbor  Joaquin  Miller  expresses  it  when  he  says: 
"Markham  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  purest  of 
the  pure;  the  cleanest-minded  man  of  all  the  many 
great  and  good  of  his  high  calling  I  have  known, 
and  it  has  been  my  high  privilege  to  know  well 
nearly  all  of  the  great  authors  of  Saxon  lands  of  this 
last  third  of  a  century."  The  present  writer 
makes  no  claim  of  wide  acquaintance  with  authors, 
and  hence  is  not  competent  to  institute  compari 
sons;  but  he  does  bear  glad  and  joyous  witness 
to  the  truth  of  Miller's  words  as  to  the  impres 
sion  made  upon  him  by  contact  and  conversation 
with  Mr.  Markham.  His  ideals  are  high,  his 
thoughts  clean  and  inspirational,  his  speech 
chaste,  touched  with  the  fire  of  prophecy,  and  filled 
with  faith  and  hope  and  love!  His  is  essen 
tially  a  religious  nature,  and  to  him  religion 
surely  implies  chastity  and  solidarity — purity  of 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  83 

thought  and  life  united  with  brotherliness  of 
spirit  and  deed.  To  use  his  own  language,  "The 
race  needs  to  be  inbrothered,  earth  imparadised, 
everything  in  relation  to  sex  must  be  lifted  to 
touch  the  ideal  and  the  poetic.  The  earth  is  to 
be  redeemed  through  the  realization  of  this  ideal 
of  sex  and  solidarity."  Mr.  Markham  has  writ 
ten  much  on  social  and  religious  topics  for  the 
magazines.  Among  the  more  important  may 
be  mentioned,  "Poetry  the  Soul  of  Religion," 
and  "  Religion  as  the  Art  of  Life, "  in  the  Homiletic 
Review,  together  with  "The  Poetry  of  Jesus"  in 
a  recent  issue  of  the  Cosmopolitan.  Of  course,  his 
chief  claim  to  recognition  is  found  in  the  poems 
gathered  in  the  two  volumes,  The  Man  with  the 
Hoe,  and  Other  Poems  (Doubleday  &  McClure 
Co.);  Lincoln,  and  Other  Poems  (McClure, 
Phillips  &  Co.);  and  a  third  volume  of  verse 
now  about  to  be  published  (1906).  In  the  summer 
time  he  lives  quietly  at  Landing,  New  Jersey,  and 
in  the  winter  months  makes  his  home — close  to 
the  great  city — in  Westerleigh,  Staten  Island. 


MARKHAM'S  MESSAGE 

AN    INTERPRETATION 

I 

To  Edwin  Markham  poetry  is  not  a  byplay, 
not  the  recreation  of  an  idle  hour.  It  is  not 
offered  as  an  easy  substitute  for  thought,  some 
thing  that  one  may  read  merely  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  rhyme,  or  to  satisfy  a  soft  and  sensuous 
sentimentality.  Poetry  to  him  is  a  vocation,  a 
high  and  heavenly  calling,  the  fit  vehicle  for  the 
expression  of  the  truth  that  will  not  be  silent.  As 
Paul  cried,  "  Woe  is  me  if  I  preach  not  the  gospel," 
so  this  man  hears  the  command  that  pushes  him 
along  his  appointed  way.  To  fail  is  to  be  recreant 
to  the  deepest  convictions  of  his  soul.  His  it  is  to 
speak  whether  men  will  hear,  or  whether  they  will 
forbear.  That  he  realizes  the  urge  of  his  mission, 
and  that  to  him  it  is  a  duty  that  may  not 
be  shirked  without  meriting  the  coward's  fate, 
is  evident  in  his  description  of  "The  Poet": 

His  home  is  in  the  heights :  to  him 
Men  wage  a  battle  weird  and  dim, 
Life  is  a  mission  stern  as  fate, 
And  Song  a  dread  apostolate. 
The  toils  of  prophecy  are  his, 
To  hail  the  coming  centimes — 
To  ease  the  steps  and  lift  the  load 
Of  souls  that  falter  on  the  road. 

'    84 


AN  INTERPRETATION  85 

He  presses  on  before  the  race, 
And  sings  out  of  a  silent  place. 
Like  faint  notes  of  a  forest  bird 
On  heights  afar  that  voice  is  heard; 
And  the  dim  path  he  breaks  to-day 
Will  some  time  be  a  trodden  way. 

O  men  of  earth,  that  wandering  voice 
Still  goes  the  upward  way:  rejoice! 

Poetry  to  him  is  not  only  a  high  and  serious 
vocation;  it  takes  on  somewhat  of  the  nature  of 
revelation.  He  is  not  more  poet  than  prophet. 
Something  of  the  inspiration  and  authority  of  the 
prophets  of  truth  and  righteousness  he  would 
claim,  I  fancy,  for  himself.  The  life-giving  quality 
of  moments  of  vision,  the  swift  and  sure  deduction 
from  some  inspirational  glimpse  into  the  heart  of 
things — all  this  he  realizes  and  holds.  One  cannot 
read  "The  Whirlwind  Road"  without  being 
reminded  of  Paul's  experience  in  the  third  heaven, 
where  he  heard  things  that  could  not  be  uttered 
in  human  speech.  So  our  poet,  in  moments  of 
inspiration,  and  on  the  Mounts  of  Vision;  siees  and 
feels  truths  and  ideals  that  at  best  can  only  be 
shadowed  forth  and  suggested  in  human  song 

and  speech: 

The  Muses  wrapped  in  mysteries  of  light 
Came  in  a  rush  of  music  on  the  night; 
And  I  was  lifted  wildly  on  quick  wings, 
And  borne  away  into  the  deep  of  things. 
The  dead  doors  of  my  being  broke  apart ; 
A  wind  of  rapture  blew  across  the  heart ; 


86  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

The  inward  song  of  worlds  rang  still  and  clear; 
I  felt  the  Mystery  the  Muses  fear; 
Yet  they  went  swiftening  on  the  ways  untrod, 
And  hurled  me  breathless  at  the  feet  of  God. 

I  felt  faint  touches  of  the  Final  Truth — 
Moments  of  trembling  love,  moments  of  youth. 
A  vision  swept  away  the  human  wall; 
Slowly  I  saw  the  meaning  of  it  all — 
Meaning  of  life  and  time  and  death  and  birth, 
But  cannot  tell  it  to  the  men  of  Earth. 

And  how  beautifully  does  he  illustrate  and 
illume  the  same  thought  in  these  simple  and  musi 
cal  lines!— 

She  comes  like  the  hush  and  beauty  of  the  night, 

And  sees  too  deep  for  laughter; 
Her  touch  is  a  vibration  and  a  light 

From  worlds  before  and  after. 

— Poetry. 

And  then  again,  how  vigorously  and  vitally  does 
he  conceive  the  poet's  mission!  Here  is  no  mys 
tical  muse  singing  of  the  joy  of  quiet  and  rest, 
of  the  virtue  of  meditation  and  inaction  in  monas 
tery  and  cell,  but  instead  the  clear  voice  and  the 
bugle  call  of  a  twentieth  century  knight  of  labor 
and  toil;  one  whose  business  and  mission  it  is  to 
inspire  men  to  ideals  and  deeds  of  noble  and 
heroic  sacrifice  and  service:  his  mission,  that  of 
the  bard  or  skald  of  ancient  times  who  sang  the 
glory  and  strength  of  the  fathers  for  the  inspira 
tion  and  .strengthening  of  the  sons;  of  the  bugler  of 


AN  INTERPRETATION  87 

to-day  who  on  the  field  of  fight  by  his  clarion  note 
nerves  the  soldiery  for  the  onset  and  charge  of 
victory : 

O  Poet,  thou  art  holden  with  a  vow: 

The  light  of  higher  worlds  is  on  thy  brow, 

And  Freedom's  star  is  soaring  in  thy  breast. 

Go,  be  a  dauntless  voice,  a  bugle-cry 

In  darkening  battle  when  the  winds  are  high — 

A  clear  sane  cry  wherein  the  God  is  heard 

To  speak  to  men  the  one  redeeming  word. 

Let  trifling  pipe  be  mute, 

Fling  by  the  languid  lute : 

Take  down  the  trumpet  and  confront  the  Hour, 
And  speak  to  toil-worn  nations  from  a  tower — 
Take  down  the  horn  wherein  the  thunders  sleep, 
Blow  battles  into  men — call  down  the  fire — 
The  daring,  the  long  purpose,  the  desire; 
Descend  with  faith  into  the  Human  Deep, 
And  ringing  to  the  troops  of  right  a  cheer, 
Make  known  the  Truth  of  Man  in  holy  fear; 
Send  forth  thy  spirit  in  a  storm  of  song, 
A  tempest  flinging  fire  upon  the  wrong. 

— To  High-born  Poets. 

And  as  for  the  outcome  of  his  song,  that  too 
must  be  practical  and  find  its  fulfillment  as  it  is 
embodied  in  individual  life  and  in  the  social  order. 
It  will  not  content  this  singer  that  his  readers  shall 
be  touched  to  sentimentality,  so  that  they  will 
speak  sweet  and  honeyed  praises  for  his  message, 
and  then  go  their  ways  all  unheeding  its  deeper 
import  and  purpose.  He  is  not  willing  that  either 
he  or  his  message  shall  simply  be  conceived  uas  a 


88  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

very  lovely  song  of  one  that  hath  a  pleasant  voice, 
and  can  play  well  on  an  instrument:  for  they  hear 
thy  words,  but  they  do  them  not."  He  knows 
full  well  that  the  value  of  his  song  is  in  proportion 
to  its  incarnation  in  thought  and  life.  Just  as 
God's  richest  and  finest  thought  comes  to  fruition 
in  the  Word  made  flesh,  so  our  poet  realizes  that 
it  is  the  Song  forceful  and  fruitful  in  speech  and 
deed  that  has  power  and  efficacy.  All  this  is 
clearly  and  strongly  set  forth  in  his  "Song  Made 
Flesh": 

I  have  no  glory  in  these  songs  of  mine : 
If  one  of  them  can  make  a  brother  strong, 

It  came  down  from  the  peaks  of  the  divine — 
I  heard  it  in  the  Heaven  of  Lyric  Song. 

The  one  who  builds  the  poem  into  fact, 

He  is  the  rightful  owner  of  it  all : 
The  pale  words  are  with  God's  own  power  packed 

When  brave  souls  answer  to  their  bugle-call. 

And  so  I  ask  no  man  to  praise  my  song, 
But  I  would  have  him  build  it  in  his  soul ; 

For  that  great  praise  would  make  me  glad  and  strong, 
And  build  the  poem  to  a  perfect  whole. 


II 

When  we  come  to  a  consideration  of  the  mes 
sage  of  Markham,  when  we  ask,  what  is  his 
special  and  central  contribution  to  the  thought  of 


AN  INTERPRETATION  89 

to-day  ?  the  answer  is  not  difficult.  He  is  the  poet 
of  humanity — of  man  in  relations.  Always  in  his 
thought  is  the  consciousness  of  the  social  bond 
that  binds,  or  ought  to  bind,  men  into  associations 
and  organizations  for  common  weal.  His  muse 
is  tuned  to  the  key  of  social  brotherhood.  It  is 
one  theme,  with  many  and  delightful  and  suggest 
ive  combinations  and  variations.  Just  as  the 
musician  combines  and  unites  the  simple  notes 
of  the  octave  into  the  complexities  and  harmonies  of 
oratorio  and  symphony,  so  the  poet  weayes  out  of 
this  simple  theme  the  harmony  and  symphony 
of  life.  And  this  must  not  be  taken  as  deprecia 
tion,  for  even  the  greatest  and  most  influential 
singers  and  thinkers  have  their  one  central  theme. 
And  it  is  only  as  we  understand  that,  that  we 
have  the  key  and  clue  to  the  meaning  of  their 
singing  and  speaking.  Stopford  Brooke  says  of 
Browning:  "When  Paracelsus  was  published  in 
1835  Browning  had  fully  thought  out,  and  in 
that  poem  fully  expressed,  his  theory  of  God's 
relation  to  man,  and  of  man's  relation  to  the  uni 
verse  around  him,  to  his  fellow  men,  and  to  the 
world  beyond.  .  .  .  Roughly  sketched  in  Pauline, 
fully  rounded  in  Paracelsus,  it  held  and  satis 
fied  his  mind  till  the  day  of  his  death."  And  he 
adds  that  Browning  escapes  monotony  "by  the 
immense  variety  of  the  subjects  he  chooses,  and 

7 


QO  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

of  the  scenery  in  which  he  places  them"1 — in 
other  words,  singleness  of  theme  with  variety  of 
treatment.  The  myriad-minded  men  are  few. 
Indeed,  the  day  of  cyclopedic  information  is  gone. 
The  world  is  too  vast,  the  subjects  too  many,  for 
the  individual  to  grasp  and  hold.  So  we  live  in 
the  age  of  specialization.  In  physics,  mechanics, 
literature,  and  art  men  set  themselves  to  the  doing 
of  one  thing.  And  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
the  man  who  would  do  one  thing  well  must  of 
necessity  know  many  things  with  precision  and 
clearness.  The  most  many-sided  man  of  his  day 
was  Paul,  but  he  never  lost  sight  of  his  objective. 
"This  one  thing  I  do"  was  ever  present  in  his 
thought  and  efficient  in  his  effort.  He  toiled  and 
traveled,  he  suffered  and  endured,  he  wrote  and 
spoke,  but  always  with  one  clear  outstanding 
purpose — the  exaltation  and  depiction  of  Christ  as 
Redeemer  and  Lord.  So  Markham  sings  in  various 
keys,  treats  divers  subjects,  but  always  keeps  his 
main  theme — the  Social  Man — in  view. 

Nature  for  him  adumbrates,  suggests,  and  illus 
trates  this  truth.  Religion  is  interpreted  as  a 
social  bond.  Divine  Fatherhood  is  the  ground 
and  seal  of  human  brotherhood.  The  will  of 
God  is  the  will  of  the  social  welfare  of  the  holy 
brotherhood.  Government — municipal,  state,  and 

^he  Poetry  of  Robert  Browning,  pp.  15,  16. 


AN  INTERPRETATION  91 

national — is  for  the  uplift  and  betterment,  for  the 
closer  joining  in  fellowship  and  service,  of  the 
units  that  now  too  frequently  struggle,  and  fight, 
and  fail,  being  alone.  How  clear  this  is  may  be 
seen  in  "  Brotherhood, "  a  poem  that  undoubtedly 
goes  to  the  heart  of  his  message : 

The  crest  and  crowning  of  all  good, 
Life's  final  star,  is  Brotherhood; 
For  it  will  bring  again  to  Earth 
Her  long-lost  Poesy  and  Mirth; 
Will  send  new  light  on  every  face, 
A  kingly  power  upon  the  race. 
And  till  it  come,  we  men  are  slaves, 
And  travel  downward  to  the  dust  of  graves. 

Come,  clear  the  way,  then,  clear  the  way: 
Blind  creeds  and  kings  have  had  their  day. 
Break  the  dead  branches  from  the  path: 
Our  hope  is  in  the  aftermath — 
Our  hope  is  in  heroic  men, 
Star-led  to  build  the  world  again. 
To  this  Event  the  ages  ran: 
Make  way  for  Brotherhood — make  way  for  Man. 

In  Markham  the  sense  of  humanity,  of  the  worth 
and  dignity  of  the  individual — first  heralded  in 
the  gospels,  then  dropping  out  of  sight,  coming 
into  view  again  in  the  French  Revolution  and  in 
the  passionate  outbursts  of  Shelley  and  his  com 
peers,  finding  fit  phrasing  in  Burns's  melodious 
verse,  voicing  its  hope  in  Tennyson's  "Golden 
Year"  and  "Locksley  Hall"— comes  into  full 
view  and  has  ample  range  and  play.  Without 


92  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

doubt  he  is  endeavoring  to  hasten  the  day  fore 
seen  by  Burns  when  he  sang: 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that, 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 

Anxious  he  is  to  have  something  to  do  with  the 
quick  inbringing  of  the  time  foretold  by  Tennyson : 

When  wealth  no  more  shall  rest  in  mounded  heaps, 

But  smit  with  freer  light  shall  slowly  melt 

In  many  streams  to  fatten  lower  lands, 

And  light  shall  spread,  and  man  be  liker  man 

Thro'  all  the  season  of  the  golden  year. 

Ill 

In  his  portrayal  of  the  social  bond,  in  his  call  to 
a  brotherly  kindness  and  helpfulness  that  shall  be 
real,  organic,  and  universal,  he  becomes  of  necessity 
the  poet  of  the  spiritual  and  ideal,  as  against  the 
material  and  the  merely  utilitarian  conception  of 
life.  When  men  conceive  material  possessions  as 
the  highest  good,  when  every  man  is  striving  for 
position  and  power,  when  acquisition  is  uppermost 
in  every  thought  and  most  evident  in  endeavor — 
then  men  are  in  the  fires  of  fiercest  and  bitterest 
competition;  then  selfish  greed  and  passion  have 
the  mastery,  and  men  are  asking  in  the  spirit  and 


AN  INTERPRETATION  93 

speech  of  Cain,  "Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?" 
Markham  holds  that  the  way  out  is  the  spiritual 
interpretation  of  the  world,  and  its  organization  in 
the  spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  He  is  no 
singer  of  a  brotherhood  that  rests  in  the  materialis 
tic  conception  of  life.  "The  Muse  of  Brother 
hood"  declares  this  truth: 

I  am  in  the  Expectancy  that  runs : 

My  feet  are  in  the  Future,  whirled  afar 

On  wings  of  light.     If  I  have  any  sons, 
Let  them  arise  and  follow  to  my  star. 

And  at  the  first  break  of  my  Social  Song 
A  hush  will  fall  upon  the  foolish  strife, 

As  though  a  joyous  god,  serene  and  strong, 
Shined  suddenly  before  the  steps  of  life. 

Cold  hearts  that  falter  are  my  only  bar: 

Heroes  that  seek  my  ever-fading  goal 
Must  take  their  reckoning  from  the  central  star, 

And  follow  the  equator :  I  am  Soul. 

In  the  thought  of  our  author,  brotherhood  is  the 
outspring  of  spirituality — the  deep  truth  latent 
at  the  heart  of  the  gospel — so  that  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  make  his  "Muse  of  Brotherhood"  say: 

I  am  Religion  by  her  deeper  name. 

The  same  truth  is  taught  in  "The  Mighty  Hun 
dred  Years."  In  these  man  has  come  to  self- 
knowledge  and  self- rev  elation  as  never  before. 
With  all  that  has  been  gained  he  is  ready  for  new 
conquests  and  adventures.  But  the  higher  fields 


94  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

of  knowledge,  the  finer  adventures  of  the  future, 
lie  in  the  realm  of  the  immaterial  and  spiritual: 

It  is  the  hour  of  man:  new  Purposes, 

Broad-shouldered,  press  against  the  world's  slow  gate; 
And  voices  from  the  vast  eternities 

Still  preach  the  soul's  austere  apostolate. 
Always  there  will  be  vision  for  the  heart, 

The  press  of  endless  passion:  every  goal 
A  traveler's  tavern,  whence  he  must  depart 

On  new  divine  adventures  of  the  soul. 

So  too  in  "The  World-Purpose."  Men  are 
saying  that  the  pursuit  of  the  ideal  and  the  spiritual 
is  in  vain.  It  is  all  a  vague  and  foolish  dream. 
Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die.  It  is 
the  cry  of  the  materialist  and  pessimist  of  every 
age.  It  is  heard  especially  to-day  in  this  age  of 
stupendous  material  power,  of  forces  well-nigh  in 
conceivable,  and  of  wealth  hitherto  unimaginable. 
Against  all  this  the  poet  lifts  his  passionate  protest. 
The  Spiritual  Power  is  not  sleeping  or  dead.  It  still 
keeps  watch  and  ward.  As  Lowell  saw  the  triumph 
of  truth  through  the  presence  of  the  Eternal  God 
"keeping  watch  above  his  own,"  so  Markham 
sees,  and  speaks  his  faith  in  ringing  words  of  hope 
and  cheer: 

All  that  we  glory  in  was  once  a  dream; 

The  World-Will  marches  onward,  gleam  by  gleam. 

New  voices  speak,  dead  paths  begin  to  stir: 

Man  is  emerging  from  the  sepulcher! 

Let  no  man  dare,  let  no  man  ever  dare 

To  mark  on  Time's  great  way,  "No  Thoroughfare!" 


AN  INTERPRETATION  95 

And  perhaps  best  embodiment  of  all  in  this 
respect  is  his  call  "To  Young  America" — this 
nation  so  signally  favored,  so  highly  prospered, 
endowed  with  a  wealth  of  crude  material  and 
native  resource  that  cannot  be  computed  or  esti 
mated,  just  emerging  as  a  world-force,  as  a  factor 
in  the  mighty  movements  of  modern  life!  Realiz 
ing  perhaps  for  the  first  time  the  greatness  of  her 
opportunity,  the  richness  of  her  privilege;  tempted 
as  mayhap  no  nation  has  ever  been  to  worship 
the  god  of  Mammon,  to  believe  that  man  lives  by 
bread  and  bread  only,  how  true  and  timely  the 
vision  and  the  message  of  this  singer  of  to-day! — 

In  spite  of  the  stare  of  the  wise  and  the  world's  derision, 
Dare  travel  the  star-blazed  road,  dare  follow  the  Vision. 

It  breaks  as  a  hush  on  the  soul  in  the  wonder  of  youth; 
And  the  lyrical  dream  of  the  boy  is  the  kingly  truth. 

The  world  is  a  vapor,  and  only  the  Vision  is  real — 

Yea,  nothing  can  hold  against  Hell  but  the  Winged  Ideal. 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF     CHRISTIAN 
THOUGHT   ILLUSTRATED 

I 

CONCEPTION  OF  LIFE 

THAT  Markham's  thought  and  writing  is  deeply 
influenced  by  the  Christian  conception  of  life  is 
not  to  be  doubted.  He  deals  with  the  average 
man,  the  man  of  the  shops  and  streets,  the  villages 
and  farms — the  artisans  and  laborers  of  every 
age  and  class.  Note  some  of  his  more  important 
titles :  "  The  Man  with  the  Hoe, "  "  The  Sower, " 
"The  Toilers,"  "The  Rock-Breaker,"  "The 
Man  Under  the  Stone,"  "The  Angelas."  And 
indeed,  whatever  may  be  his  text  or  title,  his  theme 
is  always  the  same:  the  people — their  woes  and 
needs,  their  nature  and  possibilities,  their  yearn 
ings,  hopes,  and  fears.  The  inspiration  of  it  all 
is  the  gospel.  The  common  man  comes  to  him 
self  in  the  gospel  of  Christ.  Christ  is  in  truth  the 
incarnation  of  the  artisan's  possibility  and  hope: 

This  is  the  gospel  of  labor — ring  it,  ye  bells  of  the  kirk — 
The  Lord  of  Love  came  down  from  above  to  live  with  the  men 
who  work. 

— Van  Dyke. 

It  was  to  simple  and  humble  shepherds  that  the 

tidings  of  great  joy  for  all  people  was  first  revealed. 

96 


CONCEPTION  OF  LIFE  97 

Christ  was  born  of  a  peasant  woman,  and  worked 
as  a  carpenter  among  the  fellows  of  his  class. 
When  he  began  his  public  ministry  his  first  utter 
ance  showed  that  the  common  man  was  in  his 
thought — "The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me, 
because  he  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  the  gospel 
to  the  poor;  he  hath  sent  me  to  heal  the  broken 
hearted,  to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captives,  and 
recovering  of  sight  to  the  blind,  to  set  at  liberty 
them  that  are  bruised,  to  preach  the  acceptable 
year  of  the  Lord."  When  he  chose  his  special  com 
panions  who  were  to  learn  his  thought  and  inter 
pret  his  purpose  to  the  world  they  were  of  the 
laborers  and  toilers.  It  was  among  such  that  he 
lived  and  labored,  opening  blind  eyes,  vitalizing 
lame  limbs,  and  quickening  dumb  tongues.  To 
such  as  these  his  call  sounded  out,  "Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest."  No  wonder  that  the 
common  people  heard  him  gladly;  no  wonder 
that  the  sense  of  humanity  suffuses  the  gos 
pel;  no  wonder  that  Edwin  Markham,  this 
poet  of  humanity,  is  drenched  with  the  dew 
of  gospel  grace,  and  that  his  listening  shep 
herds  sing: 

Haste,  O  people:  all  are  bidden — 
Haste  from  places,  high  or  hidden : 

In  Mary's  Child  the  Kingdom  comes,  the  heaven  in  beauty 
bends! 


98  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

He  has  made  all  life  completer : 
He  has  made  the  Plain  Way  sweeter, 
For  the  stall  is  His  first  shelter  and  the  cattle  His  first  friends. 

He  has  come!  the  skies  are  telling: 

He  has  quit  the  glorious  dwelling; 
And  first  the  tidings  came  to  us,  the  humble  shepherd  folk. 

He  has  come  to  field  and  manger, 

And  no  more  is  God  a  Stranger: 

He  comes  as  Common  Man  at  home  with  cart  and  crooked 
yoke. 

As  the  shadow  of  a  cedar 
To  a  traveler  in  gray  Kedar 

Will  be  the  kingdom  of  His  love,  the  kingdom  without  end. 
Tongues  and  ages  may  disclaim  Him, 
Yet  the  Heaven  of  heavens  will  name  Him 
Lord  of  peoples,  Light  of    nations,  elder    Brother,  tender 
Friend. 

— The  Song  of  the  Shepherds. 

II 

DIGNITY  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

The  dignity  and  value  of  the  individual  is  one 
of  the  evident  principles  of  Christ.  A  single  soul 
outvalues  the  material  universe.  A  little  child, 
with  his  innocence  and  unselfishness,  is  a  fitter 
type  of  the  spiritual  kingdom  than  men  and  women 
sitting  in  places  of  power  and  surrounded  with 
earthly  accumulations  and  honors.  The  Master 
always  seemed  to  care  more  for  an  individual  than 
for  a  great  crowd.  The  final  truth  with  respect 
to  worship  (that  some  one  has  said  is  to  be  the 
foundation  of  the  universal  religion)  he  revealed 


DIGNITY  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL  99 

to  an  unknown  and  sin-soiled  Samaritan.  The 
method  of  entrance  into  the  kingdom,  the  secret 
of  spiritual  birth  and  beginning,  he  taught  to  a 
single  questioner  in  the  silence  and  secrecy  of  the 
night.  The  most  precious  and  priceless  teaching 
of  the  centuries  he  dropped  casually,  and  seemingly 
carelessly,  to  a  few  friends  as  they  walked  in  the 
roadways,  or  chatted  in  the  Bethany  home,  or 
feasted  at  some  hospitable  table.  And  all  this 
because  he  believed  in  the  supreme  value  of  per 
sonality,  and  knew  that  the  secret  of  abiding 
influence  and  power  was  to  get  his  truth  enshrined 
and  embodied  in  some  vital,  enriched,  and  developed 
individual.  The  influence  of  this  is  seen  in  our 
poet.  He  has  caught  the  teaching  of  the  Master, 
and  man  is  of  value  to  him  not  because  of  what  he 
has,  nor  yet  because  of  the  position  he  occupies, 
but  by  virtue  of  what  he  really  is.  What  sugges 
tions  of  dignity,  what  shadowings  forth  of  infinite 
privilege  and  destiny,  in  this  mystical  stanza ! — 

Out  of  the  deep  and  endless  universe 
There  came  a  greater  Mystery,  a  Shape, 
A  Something  sad,  inscrutable,  august — 
One  to  confront  the  worlds  and  question  them. 

— Man. 

And  something  of  the  same  truth  is  seen  in  "The 
Tragedy."  How  busy  we  are  with  the  concerns 
of  the  daily  and  the  material,  how  occupied  with 
the  things  that  pertain  to  the  present  and  the  pass- 


ioo  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

ing.  And  how  little  concerned  we  are  with  the 
realities  of  life,  with  those  deeper  powers  and  pos 
sibilities  that  truly  mark  and  make  us  Man.  Mat 
thew  Arnold  has  the  truth  when  he  sings: 

We  see  all  sights  from  pole  to  pole, 

We  glance,  and  nod,  and  bustle  by; 
And  never  once  possess  our  soul 
Before  we  die. 

And  this  is  indeed  the  tragedy  and  pathos  of  life — 
the  failure  of  man,  or  his  inability,  to  see  and  appre 
ciate  the  dignity,  the  beauty,  and  the  grandeur  of 
the  place  he  holds  in  the  universe  of  God.  And  all 
this  our  author  suggests  when  he  writes: 

Oh,  the  fret  of  the  brain, 

And  the  wounds  and  the  worry; 
Oh,  the  thought  of  love  and  the  thought  of  death — 

And  the  soul  in  its  silent  hurry. 

But  the  stars  break  above, 

And  the  fields  flower  under; 
And  the  tragical  life  of  man  goes  on, 

Surrounded  by  beauty  and  wonder. 

It  is,  however,  in  "The  Sower "  and  in  "The 
Angelus"  that  we  have  his  definite  portrayal  of 
the  worth  of  the  peasant  to  the  world's  life.  In 
the  former  he  has  been  looking  at  Millet's  painting, 
and  the  suggestion  in  it  touches  his  brooding 
thought.  He  thinks  of  this  Sower  as  the  type  of 
his  class;  he  sees  how  dependent  the  world  of 
fashion,  wealth,  and  power  is  upon  this  disregarded 
and  disesteemed  tiller  of  the  soil.  And  as  the 


DIGNITY  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL  101 

vision  brightens  there  glows  and  greatens  about 
that  homely  figure  the  glory  and  dignity  of  person 
ality,  and  the  elemental  import  of  the  simple  toil  of 
simple  and  hardy  folk  : 

Who  is  it  coming  on  the  slant  brown  slope, 
Touched  by  the  twilight  and  her  mournful  hope — 
Coming  with  hero  step,  with  rhythmic  swing, 
Where  all  the  bodily  motions  weave  and  sing? 
The  grief  of  the  ground  is  in  him,  yet  the  power 
Of  Earth  to  hide  the  furrow  with  the  flower. 

He  is  the  stone  rejected,  yet  the  stone 

Whereon  is  built  metropolis  and  throne. 

Out  of  his  toil  come  all  their  pompous  shows, 

Their  purple  luxury  and  plush  repose! 

The  grime  of  this  bruised  hand  keeps  tender  white 

The  hands  that  never  labor,  day  nor  night. 

His  feet  that  only  know  the  field's  rough  floors 

Send  lordly  steps  down  echoing  corridors. 

Yea,  this  vicarious  toiler  at  the  plow 
Gives  that  fine  pallor  to  my  lady's  brow. 
And  idle  armies  with  their  boom  and  blare, 
Flinging  their  foolish  glory  on  the  air — 
He  hides  their  nakedness,  he  gives  them  bed, 
And  by  his  alms  their  hungry  mouths  are  fed. 

"The  Angelus"  suggests  to  him  the  unity  of 
worship  and  of  work.  He  holds  the  truth  that 
work  rightly  done  is  worship,  and  that  if  a  man 
has  the  right  spirit  all  his  life  is  an  offering  to  God. 
As  one  of  our  hymns  states : 

Work  shall  be  prayer,  if  all  be  wrought 

As  thou  wouldst  have  it  done ; 
And  prayer,  by  thee  inspired  and  taught, 

Itself  with  work  be  one.  — John  Ellerton. 


IO2  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

The  bowing  peasants  with  reverent  thought 
and  worshipful  attitude  remind  him  of  George 
Herbert's  words,  quaint  and  true: 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King, 

In  all  things  thee  to  see, 
And  what  I  do  in  anything, 

To  do  it  as  for  thee. 

A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgery  divine: 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws 

Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 
This  is  the  famous  stone 

That  turneth  all  to  gold: 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  own 

Cannot  for  less  be  told.  — The  Elixir. 

And  so  he  portrays  this  commonalty  and  com 
munity  of  labor  and  of  prayer,  depicting  the  sacra 
mental  nature  of  life's  daily  task,  and  showing  that 
the  uplifting  of  the  day's  work,  as  an  offering  to 
God,  sanctifies  the  gift  and  the  giver  and  suffuses 
the  gift  with  the  sweet  incense  of  the  morning 
and  the  evening  sacrifice : 

Pausing  to  let  the  hush  of  evening  pass 
Across  the  soul,  as  shadow  over  grass, 
They  cease  their  day-long  sacrament  of  toil, 
That  living  prayer,  the  tilling  of  the  soil! 
And  richer  are  their  twofold  worshipings 
Than  flare  of  pontiff  or  the  pomp  of  kings. 
For  each  true  deed  is  worship:  it  is  prayer, 
And  carries  its  own  answer  unaware. 
Yes,  they  whose  feet  upon  good  errands  run 
Are  friends  of  God,  with  Michael  of  the  sun ; 
Yes,  each  accomplished  service  of  the  day 
Paves  for  the  feet  of  God  a  lordlier  way. 


SYMPATHY  103 

He  is  more  pleased  by  some  sweet  human  use 
Than  by  the  learned  book  of  the  recluse ; 
Sweeter  are  comrade  kindnesses  to  Him 
Than  the  high  harpings  of  the  Seraphim; 
More  than  white  incense  circling  to  the  dome 
Is  a  field  well  furrowed  or  a  nail  sent  home. 
More  than  the  hallelujahs  of  the  choirs, 
Or  hushed  adorings  at  the  altar  fires, 
Is  a  loaf  well  kneaded,  or  a  room  swept  clean, 
With  light-heart  love  that  finds  no  labor  mean. 

Ill 

SYMPATHY 

One  of  the  characteristic  notes  of  Markham's 
song  is  his  sympathy  for  the  burden  bearers  and 
toilers.  The  men  in  the  field  who  do  the  hard, 
foundation  work  that  is  too  often  unrecognized 
and  but  poorly  requited;  the  women  who  stitch 
and  sometimes  are  stunted  and  starved  in  body 
and  soul  by  pinching  poverty  and  meager  oppor 
tunity — these  are  ever  in  his  thought.  And 
coordinating  with  this  truth  is  his  vision  of  selfish 
greed,  the  grinding  hand  of  power  and  place  laid 
upon  the  poor  and  the  lowly;  all  the  hatred, 
injustice,  and  unbrotherliness  of  men — sometimes 
purposeful  and  conscious,  and  at  other  times  simply 
the  fruitage  of  an  imperfect  social  and  civic  state 
that  makes  men  its  unconscious  instruments. 
Visions  such  as  these  constantly  swim  in  his  ken 
and  move  him  to  champion  the  cause  of  the  toiler, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  reveals  the  gross  injustice 


v 


I   UNIVt 


IO4  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

and  the  deep  injury  done  to  individuals  and 
society  by  the  long  tolerance  of  imperfect  and  bane 
ful  social,  civic,  and  industrial  ideals.  The  outwork 
ing  of  sin  in  its  manifold  forms  of  selfish  indiffer 
ence,  greed,  unbrotherliness,  and  injustice  is  clearly 
seen.  He  knows  that  behind  all  the  inequities  and 
iniquities  of  the  social  and  civic  state  is  the  dark 
shadow  of  sin,  individual  and  social.  The  joyless- 
ness  and  the  hopelessness,  the  mute  despair  of  the 
multitudes  are  all  due  to  the  inworking  principle  of 
sin,  whose  fruitage  is  seen  in  the  varied  forms  of 
life  and  experience.  Where  there  is  no  sin  labor  is 
in  itself  a  source  of  joy  and  happiness  instead  of 
being,  as  so  often  it  is  among  men,  a  cause  of 
misery  and  wretchedness.  Two  little  poems  of 
his  reveal  this  truth  clearly.  In  the  one  he  notes 
the  cooperation  and  happy  toil  of  ants,  the  equal 
labor  and  reward,  and  contrasts  it  with  the  plot 
and  scheme  of  man  to  use  his  brother  for  his  own 
selfish  greed  and  gain: 

Little  ants  in  leafy  wood, 
Bound  by  gentle  Brotherhood, 

Ye  are  fraters  in  your  hall, 
Gay  and  chainless,  great  and  small; 
All  are  toilers  in  the  field, 
All  are  sharers  in  the  yield. 
But  we  mortals  plot  and  plan 
How  to  grind  the  fellow  man ; 
Glad  to  find  him  in  a  pit, 
If  we  get  some  gain  of  it. 


SYMPATHY  105 

So  with  us,  the  sons  of  Time, 
Labor  is  a  kind  of  crime, 
For  the  toilers  have  the  least, 
While  the  idlers  lord  the  feast. 
Yes,  our  workers  they  are  bound, 
Pallid  captives  to  the  ground; 
Jeered  by  traitors,  fooled  by  knaves, 
Till  they  stumble  into  graves. 

How  appears  to  tiny  eyes 
All  this  wisdom  of  the  wise? 

— Little  Brothers  of  the  Ground. 

In  the  other  he  sees  the  birds  at  work  building 
their  nests,  he  hears  their  joyous  bursts  of  full- 
throated  song;  and  as  these  little  tenants  of  the 
tree-tops  busily  build  and  gayly  sing,  filling  the 
air  with  their  delicious  music,  he  knows  that  the 
purpose  of  God  for  bird  and  man  is  joy  and  peace. 
But  as  he  turns  to  human  builders  he  finds  no  such 
jocund  mood;  no  such  delight  in  labor  as  gladdens 
and  lightens  the  toil  of  the  bird: 

I  dwell  near  a  murmur  of  leaves, 

And  my  labor  is  sweeter  than  rest; 
For  over  my  head  in  the  shade  of  the  eaves 

A  throstle  is  building  his  nest. 

And  he  teaches  me  gospels  of  joy, 

As  he  gurgles  and  shouts  in  his  toil : 
It  is  brimming  with  rapture,  his  wild  employ, 

Bearing  a  straw  for  spoil. 

So  I  know  'twas  a  joyous  God 

Who  stretched  out  the  splendor  of  things, 
And  gave  to  my  bird  the  cool  green  sod, 

A  sky,  and  a  venture  of  wings. 
8 


106  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

But  why  are  my  brothers  so  still? 

They  are  building  a  lordly  hall-- 
They  are  building  a  palace  there  on  the  hill, 

But  there's  never  a  song  in  it  all! 

— The  Builders. 

How  it  reminds  one  of  the  sentiment  of  Matthew 
Arnold,  who  also  saw  the  sadness  and  the  bitter 
hopelessness  of  many  of  the  world's  workers  when 
he  said: 

For  most  men  in  a  brazen  prison  live, 
Where,  in  the  sun's  hot  eye, 
With  heads  bent  o'er  their  toil,  they  languidly 
Their  lives  to  some  unmeaning  task- work  give, 
Dreaming  of  naught  beyond  their  prison-wall. 

— A  Summer  Night. 

The  way  in  which  men  under  the  power  and 
sway  of  selfishness,  which  in  our  author's  concept 
is  the  very  heart  and  center  of  sin,  oppress  and 
grind  their  fellows,  using  them  remorselessly  for 
their  own  ends  and  then  flinging  them  aside  as 
thoughtlessly  and  as  ruthlessly  as  they  would  fling 
away  an  outworn  tool,  is  clearly  seen  and  unflinch 
ingly  portrayed.  In  "The  Toilers"  we  see  them 
drudging  in  the  pastures  and  furrows,  not  much 
better  in  their  own  thought  than  the  beasts  of  the 
field,  and  surely  not  more  regarded  in  the  estimate 
of  their  employers : 

The  leaves  shower  down  and  are  sport  for  the  winds   that 

come  after; 

And  so  are  the  Toilers  in  all  lands  the  jest  and  the  laughter 
Of  nobles — the  Toilers  scourged  on  in  the  furrow  as  cattle, 
Or  flung  as  a  meat  to  the  cannons  that  hunger  in  battle. 


SYMPATHY  107 

And  when  one  notes  what  has  but  just  now  hap 
pened  in  Russia,  the  pitiable  case  of  the  peasantry 
and  the  artisans  in  that  great  land — indeed,  of  all 
who  are  not  of  the  nobility  and  the  privileged 
classes — he  feels  that  these  words  are  none  too 
strong.  Similarly  in  "A  Harvest  Song,"  the 
reapers  and  harvesters  are  necessary  adjuncts 
in  the  saving  of  the  grain,  but  they  are  of  small 
consequence  in  the  thought  of  the  great  nobles 
and  landlords  who  hold  the  broad  acres,  and  care 
little  or  nothing  for  their  less  favored  fellows: 

Lo,  they  had  bread  while  they  were  out  a- toiling  in  the  sun : 
Now  they  are  strolling  beggars,  for  the  harvest  work  is  done. 
They  are  the  gods  of  husbandry:  they  gather  in  the  sheaves, 
But  when  the  autumn  strips  the  wood,  they're  drifting  with 
the  leaves. 

But  Markham  well  knows  that  all  the  evil 
of  this  state  is  not  visited  on  the  men  who 
toil  and  moil  in  heat  and  cold.  The  selfish, 
cruel,  and  unbrotherly  man  receives  an  arrow 
in  his  own  life  that  poisons  the  spring  of  true 
enjoyment.  "The  Goblin  Laugh"  reveals  the 
powerlessness  of  this  way  of  life  to  satisfy,  and 
hauntingly  suggests  the  tantalizing  and  ever-fail 
ing  search  of  the  unbrotherly  after  the  deep  joy 
and  peace  of  life : 

When  I  behold  how  men  and  women  grind 
And  grovel  for  some  place  of  pomp  or  power, 
To  shine  and  circle  through  a  crumbling  hour, 

Forgetting  the  large  mansions  of  the  mind, 


io8  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

That  are  the  rest  and  shelter  of  mankind ; 

And  when  I  see  them  come  with  wearied  brains 
Pallid  and  powerless  to  enjoy  their  gains, 

I  seem  to  hear  a  goblin  laugh  unwind. 

And  even  deeper  than  this  failure  to  attain  is 
the  certainty  of  an  Eternal  Power  keeping  watch 
and  ward,  "One  that  remembers,  reckons,  and 
repays. "  This  man  of  greed  and  cruelty  may  not 
hope  to  escape  the  consequence  of  his  sin.  The  re 
ward  of  sin  is  not  more  clearly  certified  in  the  gos 
pels  than  in  the  suggestions  and  statements  of  many 
of  these  poems.  In  the  second  part  of  "Dreyfus" 
one  sees  this  truth  outstanding  clear  and  bright: 

Oh,  import  deep  as  life  is,  deep  as  time! 
There  is  a  Something  sacred  and  sublime, 
Moving  behind  the  worlds,  beyond  our  ken, 
Weighing  the  stars,  weighing  the  deeds  of  men. 
Take  heart,  O  soul  of  sorrow,  and  be  strong: 
There  is  One  greater  than  the  whole  world's  wrong. 
Be  hushed  before  the  high  benignant  Power 
That  goes  untarrying  to  the  reckoning  hour. 
O  men  that  forge  the  fetter,  it  is  vain : 
There  is  a  Still  Hand  stronger  than  your  chain. 
'Tis  no  avail  to  bargain,  sneer,  and  nod, 
And  shrug  the  shoulder  for  reply  to  God. 

In  view  of  all  this  it  is  surely  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  poet's  sympathy  is  deeply  stirred  for 
those  whose  sad  lot  he  so  vividly  conceives  and  so 
clearly  portrays.  This  note  of  sympathy  is  struck 
in  many  of  his  writings.  Indeed,  often  when  it  is  not 
specifically  heard  it  is  the  deep  and  suggestive 
undertone.  But  one  does  not  have  to  read  much 


SYMPATHY  109 

in  Markham,  nor  search  long,  before  he  comes  to 
the  direct  and  earnest  expression  of  this  genuine 
brotherly  interest  and  sympathy.  In  that  poem 
that  perhaps  first  of  all  brought  him  into  public 
notice  and  gave  him  fame,  "The  Man  with  the 
Hoe,"  it  speaks  in  no  uncertain  tone.  Written 
as  this  was  after  seeing  Millet's  picture,  and  with 
the  word  of  Scripture,  "God  created  man  in  his 
own  image,  in  the  image  of  God  created  he  him, "  as 
a  text  and  foundation  thought,  it  throbs  and  beats 
in  every  line  with  a  deep  human  sympathy  for  the 
man  who  through  carelessness  and  cruelty,  by 
adversity  and  environment,  had  not  been  able  to 
realize  Tennyson's  ideal  and 

Arise  and  fly 

The  reeling  Faun,  the  sensual  feast; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die. 

How  the  heart  of  the  poet  glows  and  gleams  in 
his  passionate  questions  and  deductions! — 

Is  this  the  Thing  the  Lord  God  made  and  gave 

To  have  dominion  over  sea  and  land; 

To  trace  the  stars  and  search  the  heavens  for  power; 

To  feel  the  passion  of  Eternity? 

Is  this  the  Dream  He  dreamed  who  shaped  the  suns 

And  pillared  the  blue  firmament  with  light? 

Down  all  the  stretch  of  Hell  to  its  last  gulf 

There  is  no  shape  more  terrible  than  this — 

More  tongued  with  censure  of  the  world's  blind  greed — 

More  filled  with  signs  and  portents  for  the  soul — 

More  fraught  with  menace  to  the  universe. 


no  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

O  masters,  lords  and  rulers  in  all  lands, 

Is  this  the  handiwork  you  give  to  God, 

This  monstrous  thing  distorted  and  soul-quenched? 

How  will  you  ever  straighten  up  this  shape ; 

Touch  it  again  with  immortality; 

Give  back  the  upward  looking  and  the  light; 

Rebuild  in  it  the  music  and  the  dream; 

Make  right  the  immemorial  infamies, 

Perfidious  wrongs,  immedicable  woes? 

How  will  it  be  with  kingdoms  and  with  kings — 
With  those  who  shaped  him  to  the  thing  he  is — 
When  this  dumb  Terror  shall  reply  to  God, 
After  the  silence  of  the  centuries? 


And  what  a  sympathetic  picture  is  that  he  draws 
in  "The  Man  Under  the  Stone"! — the  working- 
man  with  wife  and  children  needing  food  and  cloth 
ing,  and  he  himself  toiling  early  and  late,  day  after 
day,  for  a  mere  pittance.  Suppose  work  slackens, 
suppose  sickness  comes  as  it  almost  always  does 
come,  suppose  accident  befalls  this  man  on  whom 
so  much  depends!  We  know  the  result;  he  seems 
just  getting  ahead,  just  about  to  push  the  great 
stone  to  the  summit,  when  one  or  other  of  those 
calamities  happens,  and  it  is  the  labor  of  Sisyphus 
over  again.  "The  destruction  of  the  poor  is  their 
poverty. "  So  the  Bible  says,  so  it  is,  and  so  Mark- 
ham  sees  and  sings: 

When  I  see  a  workingman  with  mouths  to  feed, 
Up,  day  after  day,  in  the  dark  before  the  dawn, 
And  coming  home,  night  after  night,  through  the  dusk, 


SYMPATHY  1 1 1 

Swinging  forward  like  some  fierce  silent  animal, 

I  see  a  man  doomed  to  roll  a  huge  stone  up  an  endless  steep. 

He  strains  it  onward  inch  by  stubborn  inch, 

Crouched  always  in  the  shadow  of  the  rock.     .     .     . 

See  where  he  crouches,  twisted,  cramped,  misshapen! 

He  lifts  for  their  life; 

The  veins  knot  and  darken — 

Blood  surges  into  his  face.     .     .     . 

Now  he  loses — now  he  wins — 

Now  he  loses — loses — (God  of  my  soul!) 

He  digs  his  feet  into  the  earth — 

There's  a  moment  of  terrified  effort.     .     . 

Will  the  huge  stone  break  his  hold, 

And  crush  him  as  it  plunges  to  the  gulf  ? 

The  silent  struggle  goes  on  and  on, 
Like  two  contending  in  a  dream. 

And  our  poet  never  forgets.  He  is  singing  "A 
Lyric  of  the  Dawn";  you  are  out  with  him  in  the 
woodland  ways  and  the  dewy  dells.  You  walk  the 
meadows  and  joy  in  the  golden  light  of  the  sun;  you 
see  all  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  the  world  life,  the 
music  of  the  murmuring  river,  the  deep  sound  of  the 
surf  as  it  breaks  on  the  shore,  the  laughter  of  the 
wind,  the  scent  of  the  dewy  grass,  the  song  of  the 
thrush!  And  you  are  so  enchained  and  enchanted, 
so  delighted  and  intoxicated  with  the  beauty  and 
delight  of  it  all,  that  you  forget  all  about  the  bitter 
ness  and  sorrow  of  human  life.  Not  so  the  poet — 
he  sees,  and  hears,  and  enjoys  all  that  you  do,  but 
he  forgets  not  the  men  in  the  valley  of  despondency, 
and  the  morning  song  of  the  bird  kindles  in  him  a 
sympathetic  desire  that  a  like  joy  may  somehow 


H2  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

come  into  the  hearts  and  lives  of  his  distressed 
and  wearied  fellow  workers : 

Carol,  my  king, 

On  your  bough  aswing! 

Thou  art  not  of  these  evil  days — 

Thou  art  a  voice  of  the  world's  lost  youth: 

Oh,  tell  me  what  is  duty — what  is  truth — 

How  to  find  God  upon  these  hungry  ways ; 

Tell  of  the  golden  prime, 

When  men  beheld  swift  deities  descend, 

Before  the  race  was  left  alone  with  Time, 

Homesick  on  Earth,  and  homeless  to  the  end, 

When  bird  and  beast  could  make  a  man  their  friend. 

Sing  of  the  wonders  of  their  woodland  ways, 

Before  the  weird  earth-hunger  of  these  days, 

When  there  was  rippling  mirth, 

When  justice  was  on  Earth, 

And  light  and  grandeur  of  the  Golden  Age; 

When  never  a  heart  was  sad, 

When  all  from  king  to  herdsman  had 

A  penny  for  a  wage. 

Ah,  that  old  time  has  faded  to  a  dream — 

The  moon's  fair  face  is  broken  in  the  stream; 

Yet  shout  and  carol  on,  O  bird,  and  let 

The  exiled  race  not  utterly  forget; 

Publish  thy  revelation  on  the  lawns — 

Sing  ever  in  the  dark  ethereal  dawns; 

Sometime,  in  some  sweet  year, 

These  stormy  souls,  these  men  of  Earth  may  hear. 

This  deep  and  tender  feeling  is  the  underlying 
inspiration  of  two  or  three  other  beautifully  sug 
gestive  songs.  It  is  the  ground  swell  that  bears 
them  to  their  bourn.  It  sobs  in  the  final  question 
of  "A  Cry  in  the  Night,"  and  it  ever  haunts  as  a 


SYMPATHY  113 

ghost  the  aim  and  yellow  page  of  the  "  Devil's  Jest- 
Book,"  from  which  he  transcribes  a  leaf  that  we 
may  hear  a  ghostly  voice  tell  in  a  weirdly  way 
the  fate  of  mistress  and  maiden,  high-born  lady  and 
lowly  and  lonely  sempstress: 

And  so  this  glimmering  life  at  last  recedes 
In  unknown,  endless  depths  beyond  recall; 

And  what's  the  worth  of  all  our  ancient  creeds, 
If  here  at  the  end  of  ages  this  is  all — 
A  white  face  floating  in  the  whirling  ball, 

A  dead  face  plashing  in  the  river  reeds  ? 

— A  Leaf  from  the  Devil's  Jest-Book. 

And  it  is  the  same  feeling,  true  and  noble,  that 
finds  expression  in  his  song,  "On  the  Gulf  of 
Night."  It  is  suffused  with  a  passionate  pity  and 
yearning  brotherliness  for  the  storm-shaken, 
tempest-tossed,  and  ever-wandering  petrels  on  the 
yeasting  sea  of  social  life — the  men  and  women 
who  find  no  resting  place  for  their  feet,  though 
they  seek  it  with  earnestness  and  tears: 

The  world's  sad  petrels  dwell  for  evermore 
On  windy  headland  or  on  ocectii  floor. 

There  is  for  them  not  anything  before, 
But  sound  of  sea  and  sight  of  soundless  shore 
Save  when  the  darkness  glimmers  with  a  ray, 
And  Hope  sings  softly,  Soon  it  will  be  day. 
Then  for  a  golden  space  the  shades  are  thinned 
And  dawn  seems  blowing  seaward  on  the  wind. 

But  soon  the  dark  comes  wilder  than  before, 
And  swift  around  them  breaks  a  sullen  roar; 
The  tempest  calls  to  windward  and  to  lee, 
And — they  are  seabirds  on  the  homeless  sea. 


H4  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

And  surely  we  do  not  mistake  when  we  interpret 
the  exquisite  little  gem  entitled  "A  Prayer"  as 
the  outgushing  of  this  deep  and  pure  well  of  human 
sympathy.  It  is  evident  that  the  meaning  and  pur 
pose  of  all  that  he  may  gain  from  communion  and 
fellowship  with  the  Divine  Father  is  that  some  way 
he  may  use  it  for  his  fellows,  that  somehow  he  and 
his  work  may  be  as  "the  shadow  of  a  great  rock 
in  a  weary  land,"  as  a  spring  of  water  in  the  dry 
and  thirsty  ground: 

Teach  me,  Father,  how  to  go 
Softly  as  the  grasses  grow; 
Hush  my  soul  to  meet  the  shock 
Of  the  wild  world  as  a  rock; 
But  my  spirit,  propt  with  power, 
Make  as  simple  as  a  flower. 

Teach  me,  Father,  how  to  be 
Kind  and  patient  as  a  tree. 
Joyfully  the  crickets  croon 
Under  shady  oak  at  noon; 
Beetle,  on  his  mission  bent, 
Tarries  in  that  cooling  tent. 
Let  me,  also,  cheer  a  spot, 
Hidden  field  or  garden  grot — 
Place  where  passing  souls  can  rest 
On  the  way  and  be  their  best. 

Now,  surely  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  in  all  this 
the  influence  of  Christian  thought.  Christianity 
is  a  sympathetic  religion,  and  if  its  representatives 
have  not  always  fully  and  fairly  embodied  this  ele- 


FRATERNITY  115 

ment,  the  great  Founder  never  failed.  How  often 
is  it  said  of  him  that  he  had  compassion  on  the 
multitudes!  He  saw  them  scattered  as  sheep 
without  a  shepherd,  he  heard  their  cry  in  the  wilder 
ness.  He  saw  them  the  prey  of  the  spoiler  (eccle 
siastical  and  political),  and  always  his  heart  was 
touched  to  tenderness,  his  hand  outstretched  in 
helpfulness,  and  his  lips  moved  to  the  music  of 
gracious,  comforting,  and  healing  speech.  It  is  to 
him  that  Markham  goes  for  his  interpretation  of 
religion  and  the  religious  life.  Back  of  all  forms 
and  faiths  he  touches  the  object  of  all  true 
faith,  and  the  living  virtue  of  that  touch  abides, 
and  is  the  continuing  inspiration  of  his  sym 
pathetic  and  brotherly  singing. 

IV 

FRATERNITY 

And  the  influence  of  Christian  thought  is  seen 
again  in  the  way  in  which  a  true  brotherhood  is 
set  forth,  as  the  alleviation  and  cure  of  all 
these  social  ills  and  sufferings.  That  the  Chris 
tian  doctrine  of  Brotherhood,  as  suggested  and 
unfolded  in  New  Testament  practice,  has  taken 
firm  hold  of  the  poet's  mind  cannot  be  doubted. 
To  the  question  of  Cain,  "Am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?"  Markham  makes  answer,  "We  are 
born  for  the  practice  of  the  Golden  Rule." 


n6  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

Christ's  doctrine  of  neighborliness  as  taught  in  the 
parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan  is  a  chief  element 
in  Markham's  teaching  concerning  brotherliness. 
It  is  not  the  man  in  your  social  set,  or  in  your  busi 
ness  vocation,  or  your  political  party,  or  your  reli 
gious  creed  that  is  alone  your  brother.  The  veriest 
outcast,  the  man  perhaps  at  the  farthest  remove 
from  you  socially,  industrially,  and  religiously,  has 
none  the  less  a  brother's  claim  on  you.  And  this 
is  over  again  the  New  Testament  teaching  and  the 
New  Testament  practice  with  its  deep  and  broad 
implications.  His  business  as  a  poet — indeed,  the 
business  of  every  poet  and  prophet  worthy  the 
name,  and  of  all  earnest  and  serious  thinkers 
and  livers — is  to  hasten  the  era  of  brotherhood 
with  all  its  wide  implications  and  bearings  as 
respects  society  and  state.  He  insists  that  the 
practical  concern  of  true  religion  is  to  find  a  ma 
terial  basis  for  brotherhood.  The  state  now  has 
a  working  form  of  selfishness,  it  must  be  made 
to  have  a  working  form  of  love.  There  is  no 
peace  nor  rest  till  this  great  aim  be  accom 
plished: 

No  peace  for  thee,  no  peace, 

Till  blind  oppression  cease; 

Till  the  stones  cry  from  the  walls, 

Till  the  gray  injustice  falls — 
Till  strong  men  come  to  build  in  freedom-fate 
The  pillars  of  the  new  Fraternal  State. 

— To  High-born  Poets. 


FRATERNITY  117 

History  teaches  this  truth.  The  hoary  ruins  of 
the  past  prove  that  the  nations  forgetful  of  the  duty 
and  privilege  of  brotherly  kindness  and  helpfulness 
are  forgetful  also  of  the  foundation  that  makes  for 
permanence.  It  is  Lowell  who  says  that  "Moral 
supremacy  is  the  only  kind  that  leaves  monuments 
and  not  ruins  behind  it."  And  moral  supremacy 
is  impossible  to  the  nations  that  build  on  self  and 
selfish  greed.  In  "The  Witness  of  the  Dust" 
Markham  calls  the  ruins  of  Babylon  and  Tyre  to 
testify  to  the  truth  of  his  contention : 

Voices  are  crying  from  the  dust  of  Tyre, 
From  Baalbec  and  the  stonds  of  Babylon — 

"We  raised  our  pillars  upon  Self-Desire, 

And  perished  from  the  large  gaze  of  the  sun." 

Eternity  was  on  the  pyramid, 

And  immortality  on  Greece  and  Rome; 

But  in  them  all  the  ancient  Traitor  hid, 
And  so  they  tottered  like  unstable  foam. 

There  was  no  substance  in  their  soaring  hopes : 
The  voice  of  Thebes  is  now  a  desert  cry; 

A  spider  bars  the  road  with  filmy  ropes 

Where  once  the  feet  of  Carthage  thundered  by. 

A  bittern  booms  where  once  fair  Helen  laughed; 

A  thistle  nods  where  once  the  Forum  poured ; 
A  lizard  lifts  and  listens  on  a  shaft 

Where  once  of  old  the  Colosseum  roared. 

No  house  can  stand,  no  kingdom  can  endure, 
Built  on  the  crumbling  rock  of  Self-Desire : 

Nothing  is  Living  Stone,  nothing  is  sure, 
That  is  not  whitened  in  the  Social  Fire. 


Ii8  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

To  the  same  purport  are  the  lines  of  Kipling  in 
his  "Recessional": 

Far-called,  our  navies  melt  away — 
On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire — 

Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 
Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 

Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 

For  heathen  hearts  that  put  their  trust 

In  iron  tube  and  reeking  shard — 
All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 

And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard. 
For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 
Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord! 

And  what  a  suggestive  picture  is  that  which 
Markham  gives  in  Semiramis,  or  "  A  Look  into  the 
Gulf"!  In  her  is  embodied  the  fate  of  the  cruel, 
the  greedy  and  grinding  nations  of  antiquity;  the 
nations  full  of  hate  and  lust,  and  all  unspeakable 
and  well-nigh  unimaginable  crimes  and  infamies 
against  human  brotherhood : 

I  looked  one  night,  and  there  Semiramis, 
With  all  her  mourning  doves  about  her  head, 
Sat  rocking  on  an  ancient  road  of  Hell, 
Withered  and  eyeless,  chanting  to  the  moon 
Snatches  of  song  they  sang  to  her  of  old 
Upon  the  lighted  roofs  of  Nineveh. 
And  then  her  voice  rang  out  with  rattling  laugh: 
"The  bugles!  they  are  crying  back  again — 
Bugles  that  broke  the  nights  of  Babylon, 
And  then  went  crying  on  through  Nineveh. 


FRATERNITY  119 

Stand  back,  ye  trembling  messengers  of  ill! 

Women,  let  go  my  hair:  I  am  the  Queen, 

A  whirlwind  and  a  blaze  of  swords  to  quell 

Insurgent  cities.     Let  the  iron  tread 

Of  armies  shake  the  earth.     Look,  lofty  towers: 

Assyria  goes  by  upon  the  wind!" 

And  so  she  babbles  by  the  ancient  road, 

While  cities  turned  to  dust  upon  the  Earth 

Rise  through  her  whirling  brain  to  live  again — 

Babbles  all  night,  and  when  her  voice  is  dead 

Her  weary  lips  beat  on  without  a  sound. 

And  nature,  too,  is  an  illustration  of  the  value  of 
fraternity.  God's  message  to  men  is  written  not 
only  in  THE  Book  and  in  history,  but  in  the  life  of 
the  field  and  the  face  of  the  sky.  "Day  unto  day 
uttereth  speech,"  a  speech  not  to  be  misunderstood 
or  misinterpreted  by  men  of  pure  purpose,  high 
ideals,  and  noble  aims.  And  even  from  the  life  of 
the  fields  our  poet  gathers  material  for  the  empha 
sizing  of  his  theme : 

So  from  the  field  comes  curious  news — 
That  each  one  takes  what  it  can  use — 
Takes  what  its  lifted  arms  can  hold 
Of  sky-sweet  rain  and  beamy  gold; 
And  all  give  back  with  pleasure  high 
Their  riches  to  the  sun  and  sky. 

Yes,  since  the  first  star  they  have  stood 
A  testament  of  Brotherhood. 

— The  Field  Fraternity. 

And  since  revelation,  history,  and  nature  all 
bespeak  and  illustrate  the  need,  value,  and  power 
of  brotherhood,  so  the  business  of  men  and  nations 


I2O  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

is  to  quicken  the  coming  of  the  new  and  greatly 
needed  social  era.  Especially  is  this  true  of  the 
new  democracy  of  our  time.  The  old  world  and 
old-world  peoples  are  too  firmly  fixed  in  their  old- 
time  ideas  and  ways,  but  here  in  this  new  world 
where  "the  elements  of  empire  are  plastic  yet  and 
warm,"  here  is  room  for  the  high  and  noble  ideals 
of  brotherhood  to  be  proclaimed  and  achieved. 
This  is  the  note  that  is  heard  in  "The  Errand 
Imperious": 

But  harken,  my  America,  my  own, 

Great  Mother,  with  the  hill-flower  in  your  hair! 

Diviner  is  that  light  you  bear  alone, 
That  dream  that  keeps  your  face  forever  fair. 

Imperious  is  your  errand  and  sublime, 

And  that  which  binds  you  is  Orion's  band. 

For  some  large  Purpose,  since  the  youth  of  Time, 
You  were  kept  hidden  in  the  Lord's  right  hand. 


'Tis  yours  to  bear  the  World-State  in  your  dream, 
To  strike  down  Mammon  and  his  brazen  breed, 

To  build  the  Brother-Future,  beam  on  beam; 
Yours,  mighty  one,  to  shape  the  Mighty  Deed. 

And  the  cry  is  for  leadership — for  some  one 
who  will  feel  the  heart-grief  and  call  of  humanity, 
and  will  be  the  modern  Moses  to  lead  the  people  out 
of  the  present  wilderness  of  social  and  industrial 
strife  into  the  peace  and  quiet  of  some  fraternal 
Canaan: 


FRATERNITY  121 

So  we  await  the  Leader  to  appear, 

Lover  of  men,  thinker  and  doer  and  seer, 

The  hero  who  will  fill  the  labor  throne 

And  build  the  Comrade  Kingdom,  stone  by  stone. 

Earth  listens  for  the  coming  of  his  feet; 

The  hushed  Fates  lean  expectant  from  their  seat. 

He  will  be  calm  and  reverent  and  strong, 

And,  carrying  in  his  words  the  fire  of  song, 

Will  send  a  hope  upon  these  weary  men, 

A  hope  to  make  the  heart  grow  young  again, 

A  cry  to  comrades  scattered  and  afar. 

Without  doubt  this  leader  will  be  the  man 
described  in  "The  Need  of  the  Hour,"  fearless 
and  faithful,  honest  and  true,  believing  in  himself, 
his  fellows,  and  his  God,  and  not  afraid  to  utter 
truth  that  to  many  will  seem  strange  and  new, 
and  he  will  walk  as  a  pioneer  in  the  unfrequented 
ways  of  social  progress;  one  who  will  have 

The  fine  audacities  of  honest  deed ; 

The  homely  old  integrities  of  soul; 

The  swift  temerities  that  take  the  part 

Of  outcast  right — the  wisdom  of  the  heart; 

Brave  hopes  that  Mammon  never  can  detain, 

Nor  sully  with  his  gainless  clutch  for  gain. 

The  faith  to  go  a  path  untrod, 
The  power  to  be  alone  and  vote  with  God. 

And  it  is  because  Lincoln  was  such  a  man,  and 
because  Markham  has  so  conceived  him,  that  he 
has  been  able  to  write  what  is,  I  think,  the  best 
Lincoln  poem  we  possess.  Lincoln  was  one  of  the 
people;  he  understood  them  as  possibly  no  other 


122  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

man  of  his  day.  Because  of  this  he  could  inter 
pret  them,  could  speak  to,  touch,  mold,  and  in 
fluence  them  as  few  men  have  been  able  to  do. 
And  when  the  great  crisis  came  the  heart  of  the 
people  safely  trusted  the  wisdom  and  purpose  of 
"Honest  Abe,"  who  was  one  with  them  in  that 
rugged  integrity,  that  simple  sincerity  and  direct 
ness,  that  is  at  the  heart  and  center  of  artisan  and 
peasant  life.  When  Markham  describes  him  he 
is  describing  not  only  the  leader  who  saved  the 
nation  in  the  hour  of  great  darkness  and  desperate 
need,  but  he  is  also  outlining  the  type  of  man  who 
will  lead  the  nation  out  of  the  social  chaos  and 
industrial  disorder  that  our  author  deems  so 
evident  and  unworthy  a  characteristic  of  our  age: 

When  the  Norn-Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  Hour, 

Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 

She  bent  the  strenuous  Heavens  and  came  down 

To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 

She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road — 

Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth — 

Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy; 

Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 

It  was  a  stuff  to  wear  for  centuries, 

A  man  that  matched  the  mountains,  and  compelled 

The  stars  to  look  our  way  and  honor  us. 

The  color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red  earth; 

The  tang  and  odor  of  the  primal  things — 

The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  rocks; 

The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 

The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea ; 

The  justice  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 


BROTHERHOOD  IN  CHRIST  123 

The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars; 
The  loving-kindness  of  the  wayside  well ; 
The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 
That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  weed 
As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 
To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 
That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 

And  so  he  came. 

From  prairie  cabin  up  to  Capitol, 
One  fair  Ideal  led  our  chieftain  on. 
For  evermore  he  burned  to  do  his  deed 
With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  king. 
He  built  the  rail-pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow, 
The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  stroke, 
To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart : 
And  when  the  step  of  Earthquake  shook  the  house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  hold, 
He  held  the  ridgepole  up,  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise. 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  kingly  cedar  green  with  boughs 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills, 
And  leaves  a  Ipnesome  place  against  the  sky. 

— Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the  People. 


V 

BROTHERHOOD  IN  CHRIST 
It   is   highly   significant  that   Mr.   Markham's 
hope  for  better  social,  civic,  and    industrial  con 
ditions    is     grounded     in    essential    Christianity; 
not   in   creeds,  or  forms,  or  interpretations,  but 


124  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

in  that  which  is  Christianity's  elemental  and 
unshakable  strength — Christ.  It  has  been  well 
said  that  all  men  who  look  for  better  conditions 
in  the  life  of  this  world  do  some  way  turn  to  Christ 
as  the  fulfillment  of  their  hope.  Our  poet  has 
no  faith  in  socialistic  and  anarchistic  schemes  that 
shut  out  God  and  Christ  with  all  their  vast  and 
varied  implications.  In  some  stanzas  dedicated 
to  Louise  Michel  he  says: 

I  cannot  take  your  road,  Louise  Michel, 
Priestess  of  Pity  and  of  Vengeance — no: 
Down  that  amorphous  gulf  I  cannot  go— 

That  gulf  of  Anarchy  whose  pit  is  Hell. 

And  his  "Muse  of  Labor,"  whose  text  is,  "And 
I  saw  a  New  Heaven  and  a  New  Earth,"  sings 
not  of  a  fraternal  state  that  is  to  be  founded  on 
lawlessness  and  atheism — that  were  building  on 
sand;  but  of  one  grounded  in  the  solid  and  eternal 
Rock — Christ : 

I  stand  by  Him,  the  Hero  of  the  Cross, 

To  hurl  down  traitors  that  misspend  His  bread; 

I  touch  the  star  of  mystery  and  loss 
To  shake  the  kingdoms  of  the  living  dead. 

I  wear  the  flower  of  Christus  for  a  crown; 

I  poise  the  suns  and  give  to  each  a  name ; 
And  through  the  hushed  Eternity  bend  down 

To  strengthen  gods  and  keep  their  souls  from  blame. 

Our  poet  objects  that  the  present  order  does  not 
give  what  he  calls  "brother-bread. "  The  "  Muse  of 


BROTHERHOOD  IN  CHRIST  125 

Labor"  sings  and  works  for  the  sure-coming  time 
when  along  with  the  daily  bread  there  will  be 
brother-bread,  bread  of  the  kingdom,  enough  and 
to  spare  for  all. 

That  he  believes  that  God  is,  and  that  he  is 
working  in  and  through  all  forms  of  organized 
life  for  the  uplift  of  mankind,  for  the  amelioration 
of  imperfect  conditions,  is  clearly  evident.  Our 
poet  is  not  a  poet  of  the  past,  but  of  the  present. 
There  may  have  been  beautiful  days  and  types  in 
the  ages  gone,  but  better  and  more  beautiful  are 
still  to  come.  He  is  not  a  prophet  of  despair,  but 
of  hope.  He  sees  the  hand  and  purpose  of  God 
working  through  good  and  evil,  guiding,  control 
ling,  and  restraining  to  one  high  end  and  noble 
destiny — the  building  of  a  brotherhood  on  earth 
that  shall  be  conformable  to  the  thought  and 
type  that  lies  in  the  mind  of  the  Eternal  Father. 
This  is  indicated  in  "The  Climb  of  Life": 

There's  a  feel  of  all  things  flowing, 
And  no  power  of  Earth  can  bind  them; 

There's  a  sense  of  all  things  growing, 

And  through  all  their  forms  aglowing 
Of  the  shaping  souls  behind  them. 

.....* 

See  the  still  hand  of  the  Shaper, 

Moving  in  the  dusk  of  being: 
Burns  at  first  a  misty  taper, 
Like  the  moon  in  veil  of  vapor, 

When  the  rack  of  night  is  fleeing 


ia6  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

So  the  Lord  of  Life  is  flinging 
Out  a  splendor  that  conceals  Him; 

And  the  God  is  softly  singing 

And  on  secret  ways  is  winging, 

Till  the  rush  of  song  reveals  Him. 

And  this  that  is  only  shadowed  and  suggested  in 
the  just  quoted  lines  comes  forth  in  clear  and  defi 
nite  expression  in  "The  New  Century."  Man  has 
laid  his  spell  upon  the  continents  and  they  confess 
to  him  their  secret  source  of  treasure;  his  scepter 
of  power  is  upon  the  realms  of  nature,  and  they 
pay  him  homage  and  tribute.  The  kingdoms 
of  nature  have  been  conquered,  subdued,  and  tilled, 
but  the  greater  work  remains — the  subdual  of 
man,  himself,  of  all  appetites  and  ambitions,  all 
desires  and  passions  to  the  one  end,  the  establish 
ment  and  strengthening  of  the  Kingdom  of  Fra 
ternity.  And  who  is  watching  over  this  process, 
who  is  guiding  and  pushing  it  ever  on  ?  God! 

God  is  descending  from  eternity, 

And  all  things,  good  and  evil,  build  the  road. 

Yea,  down  in  the  thick  of  things,  the  men  of  greed 

Are  thumping  the  inhospitable  clay. 

By  wondrous  toils  the  men  without  the  Dream, 

Led  onward  by  a  something  unawares, 

Are  laying  the  foundations  of  the  Dream, 

The  Kingdom  of  Fraternity  foretold. 

And  it  is  this  feeling  that  God  is  in  the  ways 
of  men,  interested  in  all  their  doings,  spending 
himself  for  their  uplift  and  development,  that  is 


BROTHERHOOD  IN  CHRIST  127 

the  inspiration  of  that  beautiful  and  daring  con 
ception,  "Song  to  the  Divine  Mother."  "This 
song,"  as  Markham  himself  tells  us,  "should 
be  read  in  the  light  of  the  deep  and  comforting 
truth  that  the  Divine  Feminine  as  well  as  the 
Divine  Masculine  Principle  is  in  God — that  He 
is  Father-Mother,  Two-in-One."  So  Isaiah  had 
in  mind  when  he  said,  "As  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you."  And  this 
Mother-heart  is  compassionate  of  the  weariness 
and  woes  of  her  children.  Even  though  the  chil 
dren  are  blamable  for  their  poor  estate  this  Divine 
Mother-Love  does  not  fail.  To  this  the  poet 
makes  his  appeal  for  help : 

Come  down,  O  Mother,  to  the  helpless  land, 
That  we  may  frame  our  Freedom  into  Fate : 

Come  down,  and  on  the  throne  of  nations  stand, 
That  we  may  build  Thy  beauty  in  the  State. 

Come  shining  in  upon  our  daily  road, 

Uphold  the  hero  heart  and  light  the  mind; 

Quicken  the  strong  to  lift  the  People's  load, 
And  bring  back  buried  justice  to  mankind. 

Shine  through  the  frame  of  nations  for  a  light, 
Move  through  the  hearts  of  heroes  in  a  song: 

It  is  Thy  beauty,  wilder  than  the  night, 

That  hushed  the  heavens  and  keeps  the  high  gods 
strong. 

Come,  Bride  of  God,  to  fill  the  vacant  Throne, 
Touch  the  dim  Earth  again  with  sacred  feet; 

Come,  build  the  Holy  City  of  white  stone, 

And  let  the  whole  world's  gladness  be  complete. 


128  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

Come  with  the  face  that  hushed  the  heavens  of  old — 
Come  with  Thy  maidens  in  a  mist  of  light; 

Haste,  for  the  night  falls  and  the  shadows  fold, 
And  voices  cry  and  wander  on  the  height. 

The  place  of  Christ  in  this  redeemed  and 
rejuvenated  world  is  not  difficult  to  find.  The  old 
Messianic  hope  glows  in  Markham's  breast. 
The  prophecies  speak  to  him  of  the  growth  of 
men  and  nations  in  holiness  and  helpfulness.  The 
words  of  Jesus  are  the  seed  some  day  to  spring  up 
and  bring  the  abundant  harvest.  The  golden  rule 
is  not  to  him  an  "iridescent  dream"  in  politics  or 
trade.  The  word  of  the  Master  will  surely  find 
its  fruition.  It  will  not  return  to  him  void.  But 
he  is  not  looking  for  any  mechanical,  materialistic 
coming.  This  kingdom  comes  as  the  kingdom 
of  growth,  as  the  kingdom  of  truth,  quietly,  without 
noise,  or  show,  or  any  such  thing;  none  the  less  it 
comes,  with  certainty  and  steady  step.  No  power 
can  long  withstand  or  hinder.  All  this  is  voiced 
for  us  in  "The  Desire  of  Nations."  As  we  read 
we  share  in  the  universal  joy  at  his  coming,  we  are 
glad  in  the  gladness  of  the  race: 

Earth  will  go  back  to  her  lost  youth, 

And  life  grow  deep  and  wonderful  as  truth, 

When  the  wise  King  out  of  the  nearing  Heaven  comes 

To  break  the  spell  of  long  millenniums — 

To  build  with  song  again 

The  broken  hope  of  men — 

To  hush  and  heroize  the  world, 

Beneath  the  flag  of  Brotherhood  unfurled. 


BROTHERHOOD  IN  CHRIST  129 

And  He  will  come  some  day: 

Already  is  His  star  upon  the  way! 

He  comes,  O  world,  He  comes! 

But  not  with  bugle-cry  nor  roll  of  doubling  drums. 

And  when  He  comes  into  the  world  gone  wrong, 

He  will  rebuild  her  beauty  with  a  song. 

To  every  heart  He  will  its  own  dream  be : 

One  moon  has  many  phantoms  in  the  sea. 

Out  of  the  North  the  norns  will  cry  to  men : 

"Balder  the  Beautiful  has  come  again!" 

The  flutes  of  Greece  will  whisper  from  the  dead : 

"Apollo  has  unveiled  his  sun- bright  head!" 

The  stones  of  Thebes  and  Memphis  will  find  voice: 

"Osiris  comes:  O  tribes  of  Time,  rejoice!" 

And  social  architects  who  build  the  State, 

Serving  the  Dream  at  citadel  and  gate, 

Will  hail  Him  coming  through  the  labor-hum, 

And  glad  quick  cries  will  go  from  man  to  man: 

'  'Lo,  He  has  come,  our  Christ  the  Artisan — 

The  King  who  loved  the  lilies,  He  has  come!" 

He  will  arrive,  our  Counselor  and  Chief. 

And  with  bleak  faces  lighted  up  will  come 

The  earth-worn  mothers  from  their  martyrdom, 

To  tell  Him  of  their  grief. 

And  glad  girls  caroling  from  field  and  town 

Will  go  to  meet  Him  with  the  labor-crown, 

The  new  crown  woven  of  the  heading  wheat. 

And  men  will  sit  down  at  His  sacred  feet; 

And  He  will  say — the  King — 

"Come,  let  us  live  the  poetry  we  sing!" 

And  these,  His  burning  words,  will  break  the  ban — 

Words  that  will  grow  to  be, 

On  continent,  on  sea, 

The  rallying  cry  of  man. 

Well  he  knows  that  the  true  coming  of  the  King 
and  the  kingdom  is  the  incarnation  of  his  Spirit 


130  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

and  truth  in  human  hearts  and  organizations.  It 
is  nothing  magical  or  miraculous,  it  is  the  accept 
ance  of  Christ's  teachings,  and  the  embodiment  of 
them  in  personal  practice  and  in  the  organic  Chris 
tian  state;  the  application  of  them  to  the  work  of 
every  day  by  men  of  good  will.  The  Christ-man 
will  one  day  build  the  Christ-state,  permeated  by 
the  Christ-force,  and  a  nation  will  be  born  in  a  day. 
This,  after  all,  is  the  secret  of  his  coming.  In  pro 
portion  as  these  ideals  are  realized  he  comes  and 
the  kingdom  grows.  To  refuse  to  recognize  this  is 
to  bar  the  way,  and  to  oppose  the  advance  of 
brotherliness  and  social  peace.  When  men  truly 
accept  Christ  they  become  obedient  to  the  heavenly 
vision,they  see  with  his  eyes,believe  with  his  beliefs, 
and  walk  in  his  ways.  Then  will  be  seen  the  "  new 
Jerusalem,  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven, 
prepared  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband": 

It  is  a  vision  waiting  and  aware; 

And  you  must  draw  it  down,  O  men  of  worth — 
Draw  down  the  New  Republic  held  in  air, 

And  make  for  it  foundations  on  the  Earth. 

Some  breathing  of  the  visionary  host 
Breaks  fitfully  along  the  world's  advance; 

A  passing  glimmer  touched  New  England's  coast, 
A  whisper  of  its  passion  came  on  France. 

Saint  John  beheld  it  as  a  great  white  throne, 

Above  the  ages  wondrous  and  afar; 
Mazzini  heard  it  as  a  bugle  blown; 

And  Shelley  saw  it  as  a  steadfast  star. 


FINALE  131 

The  Lyric  Seer  beheld  it  as  a  feast, 

A  great  white  table  for  the  People  spread; 

And  there  was  knightly  joy,  with  Christ  the  Priest 
And  King  of  Labor  sitting  at  the  head. 

Ideal  peaks  are  possible  to  men: 

Hold  to  the  highest,  resolute  and  strong, 

And  the  glad  Muses  will  descend  again, 

To  walk  the  roads  of  kingdoms  white  with  song. 

— To  Heroic  Men. 

VI 

FINALE 

If  further  illustration  of  his  message,  its  spirit 
and  purpose,  is  desired  it  can  be  found  in  abun 
dance  in  his  recent  book  of  verse.  True,  in  this 
new  book  he  sings  of  Love,  as  in  "Virgilia," 
"  The  Homing  Heart, "  and  other  lyrics.  A  love  it 
is  ideal,  idyllic,  and  eternal — begun  in  heaven, 
and  having  its  highest  and  holiest  consummation 
there  when  the  cycle  is  complete.  None  the  less 
it  is  a  love  touched  and  glorified  with  the  spirit  of 
sacrifice  and  service,  that  is  at  the  heart  of  the 
world's  inbrothering.  Tennyson  sends  his  disap 
pointed  and  broken  lover  to  find  death  in  the  wars. 
Markham  sends  his  to  find  life  in  the  service  of  his 
fellows.  And  the  difference  in  ideal  connotes  the 
growth  of  the  sense  of  humanity,  the  progress 
of  the  brotherly  spirit: 

I  will  go  the  way  and  my  song  shall  save  me, 
Though  griefs  go  with  me  ever  abreast: 

I  will  finish  the  work  that  the  strange  God  gave  me, 
And  then  pass  on  to  rest. 


132  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

I  will  go  back  to  the  great  world-sorrow, 
To  the  millions  bearing  the  double  load — 

The  fate  of  to-day  and  the  fear  of  to-morrow: 
I  will  taste  the  dust  of  the  road. 

I  will  go  back  to  the  pains  and  the  pities 

That  break  the  heart  of  the  world  with  moan; 

I  will  forget  in  the  grief  of  the  cities 
The  burden  of  my  own. 

There  in  the  world-grief  my  own  grief  humbles, 

My  own  hour  melts  in  the  days  to  be, 
As  the  wild  white  foam  of  a  river  crumbles, 

Forgotten  in  the  sea.  — Virgilia. 

Here,  too,  will  be  found  such  social  themes  as 
"The  Right  to  Labor  in  Joy,"  "Heroes  of  the 
Dream,"  "The  Home,"  "The  Love  of  Friends;" 
such  Scripture  subjects  as  "The  Song  of  the  Magi, " 
"Before  Mary  of  Magdala  Came,"  "The  Way 
to  Emmaus,"  and  others  of  like  nature,  all  handled 
with  reverent  freedom,  with  high  cheer,  and  with 
genuine  sincerity.  Indeed,  the  sincerity  of  Mr. 
Markham  is  evident  in  all  he  writes.  The  fire  of 
conviction  glows  in  his  lines.  The  power  of  his 
vision  rests  on  him  mightily  and  inspires  him  to 
write,  and  speak,  and  work  for  the  realization  of 
his  dream.  He  is  no  despondent  doubter,  he 
forereaches  the  good  time  that  he  so  surely 
sees  is  on  the  way.  It  may  not  come  in  per- 
fectness  in  his  day,  but  it  is  surely  coming,  and 
he  finds  joy  in  the  consciousness  that  he  is  one 
of  the  humble  instruments  of  that  Eternal  Truth 


FINALE  133 

which  through    the   ages  has   been    calling   and 
inspiring  men 

To  leave  the  low,  dank  thickets  of  the  flesh 

Where  man  meets  beast  and  makes  his  lair  with  him; 

For  spirit  reaches  of  the  strenuous  vast, 

Where  stalwart  souls  reap  grain  to  make  the  bread 

God  breaketh  at  his  tables,  and  is  glad. 

— William  Vaughn  Moody. 

The  joy  that  our  poet  has  in  all  this,  the  delight 
he  takes  in  his  share  of  the  work,  his  gladsome  con 
fidence  that  truth  cannot  fail  and  that  the  feet  of 
the  coming  kingdom  are  moving  swiftly  on  the 
way — all  this  is  voiced  in  that  poem  which  incar 
nates  the  very  spirit  of  high  hope  and  courage 
and  cheer,  and  so  makes  a  fitting  finale  to  this  sur 
vey  of  the  timely  and  seerlike  work  of  Edwin 
Markham: 

These  songs  will  perish  like  the  shapes  of  air — 

The  singer  and  the  songs  die  out  forever; 

But  star-eyed  Truth  (greater  than  song  or  singer) 

Sweeps  hurrying  on:  far  off  she  sees  a  gleam 

Upon  a  peak.     She  cried  to  men  of  old 

To  build  the  enduring,  glad  Fraternal  State — 

Cries  yet  through  all  the  ruins  of  the  world — 

Through  Karnack,  through  the  stones  of  Babylon — 

Cries  for  a  moment  through  these  fading  songs. 

On  winged  feet,  a  form  of  fadeless  youth, 

She  goes  to  meet  the  coming  centuries; 

And,  hurrying,  snatches  up  some  human  reed, 

Blows  through  it  once  her  terror-bearing  note, 

And  breaks  and  throws  away.     It  is  enough 

If  we  can  be  a  bugle  at  her  lips, 

To  scatter  her  contagion  on  mankind. 

— These  Songs  Will  Perish, 


>0imr: 

/  OF  THE 

i    UNIVERSITY 


OF 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 


Whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest, 
whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good 
report;  if  there  be  any  virtue,  and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think 
on  these  things. — Paul. 


THE  MAN 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL  died  just  when  he  was 
ready  and  ripe  for  his  work.  In  the  fullness  of  his 
powers,  when  his  productivity  was  fulfilling  the 
promise  of  earlier  years,  and  at  the  same  time  was 
the  prophecy  of  the  finer  output  of  the  future,  his 
spirit  took  its  flight.  The  fate  that  Keats  foresaw 
and  feared  for  himself  happened  to  this  man  of 
unquestioned  poetic  gifts.  He  vanished  from  our 
sight 

Before  his  pen  had  gleaned  his  teeming  brain, 

Before  high-piled  books  in  charact'ry 
Held  like  rich  garners  the  full-ripened  grain. 

How  often  it  is  so !  Just  when  one  is  ready  for 
life  and  work,  when  one's  preparation  is  complete, 
when  power  for  productivity  is  at  its  height,  then 
"the  silver  cord  is  loosed,  the  golden  bowl  is 
broken,  the  pitcher  is  broken  at  the  fountain,  the 
wheel  is  broken  at  the  cistern."  This  it  is  that 
makes  us  feel  that  there  are  in  man  greater 
orations  than  have  ever  been  spoken,  finer  pic 
tures  than  have  ever  been  painted,  statues  of 
more  wondrous  grace  and  beauty  than  the  hand 
has  ever  been  able  to  fashion,  and  songs  more 

10  137 


138  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

delicate,  exquisite,  and  perfect  than  the  lips  have 
ever  uttered. 

Beyond  the  poet's  sweet  dream  lives 

The  eternal  epic  of  the  man.  — Whittier. 

The  highest  and  finest  ideals  of  a  man  are  rarely 
or  never  achieved. 

Ah,  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
Or  what's  a  heaven  for?  — Browning. 

The  brevity  of  time,  the  imperfectness  of  utter 
ance,  the  lack  of  opportunity  or  fit  occasion,  the 
hostility  of  environment — all  this  keeps  back  and 
down  the  best  that  is  in  us.  This  truth  it  is  that 
gives  significance  to  Browning's  saying: 

All  I  could  never  be, 
All  men  ignored  in  me, 

This  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher 
shaped. 

And  all  this,  as  has  already  been  suggested,  finds 
illustration  in  the  story  of  Sill.  What  he  did  is  only 
just  a  suggestion  and  hint  of  what  he  hoped  to  do, 
and  doubtless  would  have  done  if  time  and  oppor 
tunity  had  been  given  him. 

For  the  following  brief  biographic  note  we  are 
indebted  to  a  little  sketch  of  Sill's  life  that  is  pub 
lished  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  as  a  sort  of 
preface  to  the  first  volume  of  his  writings  published 
by  them,  and  entitled  simply  Poems: 

"He  was  born  in  Windsor,  Connecticut,  in  1841, 


THE  MAN  139 

and  graduated  at  Yale  College  with  the  class  of 
1 86 1 .  He  went  to  California  not  long  after  gradua 
tion,  and  at  first  engaged  in  business,  but  in  1867 
returned  east  with  the  expectation  of  entering  the 
ministry,  and  studied  for  a  few  months  at  the 
Divinity  School  of  Harvard  University.  He  gave 
up  the  purpose,  however,  married,  and  occupied 
himself  with  literary  work,  translating  Rau's 
Mozart,  holding  an  editorial  position  on  the  New 
York  Evening  Mail,  and  bringing  out  his  volume 
of  poems. 

"His  peculiar  power  in  stimulating  the  minds 
of  others  drew  him  into  the  work  of  teaching,  and 
he  became  principal  of  an  academy  in  Ohio.  His 
California  life,  however,  had  given  him  a  strong 
attachment  to  the  Pacific  coast  and  a  sense  that  his 
health  would  be  better  there,  and  accordingly, 
on  receiving  an  invitation  to  a  position  in  the 
Oakland  High  School,  he  removed  to  California 
in  1871,  remaining  there  till  1883.  In  1874  he 
accepted  the  chair  of  English  Literature  in  the 
University  of  California,  and  identified  himself 
closely  with  the  literary  life  which  found  its  ex 
pression  in  magazines  and  social  organization. 

"Upon  his  return  to  the  east  with  the  intention 
of  devoting  himself  more  exclusively  to  literary 
work,  he  began  that  abundant  production  which 
has  been  hinted  at,  and  which,  anonymous  for  the 


140  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

most  part,  was  rapidly  giving  him  facility  of  exe 
cution  and  drawing  attention  to  the  versatility, 
the  insight,  the  sympathetic  power,  the  inspiring 
force  which  had  always  marked  his  teaching  and 
bade  fair  to  bring  a  large  and  appreciative  audi 
ence  about  him.  He  lived  remote  from  the  press 
of  active  life,  always  close  to  the  center  of  current 
intellectual  and  spiritual  movements,  in  the  village 
of  Cuyahoga  Falls,  Ohio,  where  he  died  after  a 
brief  illness,  February  27,  1887." 


THE  NATURE  AND  QUALITY  OF 
HIS  WRITING 

I 

GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

IT  could  hardly  be  expected  that  a  man  born  in 
1841  and  dying  in  1887  could  do  more  than  give 
us  a  taste  of  his  quality  and  a  suggestion  of  the 
power  that  was  in  him.  What  we  have  of  Sill 
makes  us  regret  keenly  the  brevity  of  his  life  and 
the  littleness  of  the  opportunity  that  was  his.  And 
yet  we  have  reason  for  joy  and  thankfulness  that 
this  man  conceived  his  life's  purpose  so  well,  and 
that  in  its  brief  span  he  gave  us  work  of  so  high 
and  enduring  quality.  The  quickly  fleeting  years 
were  filled  with  worthy  effort  and  ennobling 
song.  As  is  said  in  the  brief  sketch  just  quoted, 
"he  lived  always  close  to  the  center  of  current 
intellectual  and  spiritual  movements."  His  home 
was  on  the  uplands  of  life.  The  unclean  could 
not  pass  that  way,  nor  any  ravening,  wolfish 
thought  find  foothold  or  food  on  the  high  places 
where  he  walked  with  free  and  fearless  feet.  It 
would  seem  as  if  to  the  counsel  of  Paul,  "Whatso 
ever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest, 
whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are 

141 


142  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever 
things  are  of  good  report;  if  there  be  any  virtue, 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these  things, " 
he  could  truly  make  answer,  "All  this  have  I  done 
from  my  youth  up."  There  was  not  time  for  this 
man  to  round  out  his  thought  of  life,  or  garner 
the  rich  and  ripened  harvest  of  his  brain.  Neither 
was  there  time  for  him  to  collect  and  collate  the 
fruitage  of  his  brief  but  busy  life.  He  was  at  work 
giving  expression  to  his  deeper  self,  and  not  much 
concerned  about  it  after  such  expression. 

What  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  (Ward)  said 
of  him  in  The  Century  for  September,  1888,  is 
surely  true: 

He  was  outside  of  the  ceramics  of  the  poetic  art.  He  did 
not  give  us  bric-a-brac.  We  do  not  look  for  him  in  the  depart 
ment  of  household  art  decoration.  He  expressed  himself, 
so  far  as  he  was  expressed  at  all,  by  pure  inspiration.  One 
must  not  mistake  the  slight  assumption  of  his  work,  its 
modesty,  its  reticence,  its  way — so  like  the  author's  own — 
of  keeping  in  the  background  till  sought,  for  the  features 
of  what  we  are  most  apt  to  mean  by  minor  poetry.  By 
pure  quality,  he  was  outside  of  this  dead  line. 

In  saying  this  we  do  not  forget  the  incompleteness  of  his 
achievement  in  point  of  some  respects  which  go  to  fix  a 
man's  place  or  his  phase  in  the  poetry  of  his  times.  His  self- 
distrust  may  be  called  almost  pitiful,  in  view  of  his  creative 
quality.  One  might  fancy  that  Death  had  his  eye  on  that 
shrinking,  exquisite  nature  which  had  but  just  rooted  itself 
in  our  garden  of  poetry,  and  had  suffered  it  to  unfold  only 
so  far  as  to  taunt  us  with  a  singular  sense  of  our  loss  and  the 
Destroyer's  power.  There  is  more  pathos  in  his  life  and 
more  irony  than  most  lives  and  deaths  could  provide  material 


GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  143 

for  if  they  tried.  And  this  true  poet  and  true  man  never 
"tried."  His  life  was  as  simple  and  as  honest  as  that  of  a 
tree.  He  could  not  attitudinize.  He  never  posed.  His 
literary  "effect"  was  the  last  thing  he  ever  thought  of.  He 
cared  more  about  being  a  genuine  man  than  a  recognized 
poet.  .  .  . 

I  am  confident  that  a  study  of  his  delicate,  fragmentary 
work  will  bring  the  reader  at  the  end  to  the  same  conviction. 
He  is  a  truly  spontaneous  being;  he  has  no  "made  voice"; 
he  sings  because  he  cannot  help  it — as  the  birds  do,  as  the 
waves  do,  like  the  winds;  he  is  of  his  time,  of  his  country, 
and  of  himself. 

Much  of  his  thought  first  found  its  way  to  the 
public  through  newspapers  and  magazines,  and 
much  more  was  handed  about  among  his  friends — 
scattered  broadcast  with  loving  and  lavish  hand, 
and  without  much  thought  of  future  preservation. 
It  has  remained  for  those  who  recognize  in  his 
singing  an  accent  and  a  tone  of  universality,  a  mat 
ter  and  manner,  a  note  and  quality  that  make  for 
abidingness  and  power,  to  gather  up  his  scattered 
and  fugitive  verse  and  give  it  to  the  public  in  some 
fit  and  permanent  form.  This  has  been  done 
by  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  in  three 
small  volumes  entitled  respectively  and  in  the 
order  of  their  publication,  Poems;  The  Her 
mitage,  and  Other  Poems;  Hermione,  and  Other 
Poems.  These  are  the  volumes  that  form  the 
basis  of  this  study. 

In  these  sonnets  and  poems  we  find  Mr.  Sill  sing 
ing  of  life  and  love,  of  God  and  man,  of  faith  and 


144  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

practice;  and  always  with  a  note  and  accent 
that  lifts  one  into  the  higher  realms  of  living. 
Nature  and  human  nature,  life  and  labor  are  by 
him  interpreted  in  the  light  of  the  Spirit.  As  fully 
as  the  prophets  and  priests,  the  singers  and  seers 
of  other  days,  he  sees  the  meagerness  and  mean 
ness,  the  utter  valuelessness,  of  a  life  bounded  by 
the  cradle  and  the  grave.  He  has  a  message  and 
knows  it  such,  but  he  knows,  too,  that  this  message 
is  not  unique  and  singular.  His  is  not  the  first  and 
only  voice  to  frame  and  sing,  nor  will  it  be  the  last. 
He  has  the  wisdom  to  see  and  know  that  his  mes 
sage  is  only  an  echo,  a  note,  a  tone  of  the  eternal 
message  that  God  has  somehow  put  into  the  heart 
of  man  and  into  the  very  constitution  of  things, 
so  that  the  seer  and  singer  is  only  gather 
ing  up  some  little  part  of  the  universal  mes 
sage.  The  pity  of  it  is  that  most  of  us  are  too  dull 
of  soul  and  too  slow  of  wit  to  hear  and  appreciate 
the  voice  of  God  speaking  through  all  the  various 
elements  of  the  world.  That  our  singer  is  sensitive 
to  the  Universal  Voice  is  evident  in  what  he  sug 
gests  in  "The  Singer's  Confession": 


Once  he  cried  to  all  the  hills  and  waters 
And  the  tossing  grain  and  tufted  grasses: 
"Take  my  message — tell  it  to  my  brothers! 
Stricken  mute  I  cannot  speak  my  message." 


THE   PLACE  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL        145 

What  was  he,  that  he  had  touched  their  message — 

Theirs,  who  had  been  chanting  it  forever: 

With  whose  organ-tones  the  human  spirit 

Had  eternally  been  overflowing! 

Then,  with  shame  that  stung  in  cheek  and  forehead, 

Slow  he  crept  away. 

And  now  he  listens, 

Mute  and  still,  to  hear  them  tell  their  message — 
All  the  holy  hills  and  sacred  waters; 
When  the  sea-wind  swings  its  evening  censer, 
Till  the  misty  incense  hides  the  altar 
And  the  long-robed  shadows,  lowly  kneeling. 


II 

THE  PLACE  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

One  clear  note  struck  by  this  poet  concerns 
the  small  part  played  by  the  individual  in  the  up 
ward  movement,  and  coupled  with  that  the  assur 
ance  of  eternal  progress.  Most  of  us  are  prone  to 
imagine  that  if  our  plan  is  not  adopted  the  heavens 
will  fall.  We  have  some  social,  political,  or  reli 
gious  panacea — accept  it  and  the  millennium  is  at 
hand;  reject  it  and  the  Furies  and  Harpies  will  eat 
out  the  heart  of  life.  As  he  tells  us  in  "The 
Hermitage": 

This  little  lying  lens,  that  twists  the  rays, 

So  cheats  the  brain  that  My  house,  My  affairs, 

My  hunger,  or  My  happiness,  My  ache, 

And  My  religion,  fill  immensity! 

Yours  merely  dot  the  landscape  casually. 

'Tis  well  God  does  not  measure  a  man's  worth 

By  the  image  on  his  neighbor's  retina. 


146  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

And  this  is  true  of  every  man's  plan,  and  effort, 
and  achievement.  It  is  something  in  the  great  on 
ward  movement  of  the  race,  but  it  bulks  not  nearly 
so  large  in  the  world  life  as  one  is  apt  to  think  it 
does.  The  attitude  of  humility  is  the  only  attitude 
for  even  the  seeming  great  ones  of  earth.  The 
willingness  to  be  the  forerunners  and  heralds  of  the 
greater  men  to  come,  to  say  with  the  Baptist,  "  He 
must  increase,  I  must  decrease,"  is  the  sign  of  a 
roval  nature : 

Fret  not  that  the  day  is  gone, 
And  thy  task  is  still  undone. 

Yesterday  a  babe  was  born : 
He  shall  do  thy  waiting  task; 
All  thy  questions  he  shall  ask, 
And  the  answers  will  be  given, 
Whispered  lightly  out  of  heaven. 

Tis  enough  of  joy  for  thee 

His  high  service  to  foresee.  — Service. 

There  is  truth  and,  in  view  of  his  own  early 
dying,  there  is  pathos  in  his  expression  of  this 
same  thought  in  another  form.  The  brevity  of 
the  individual  life,  the  little  that  one  can  do 
though  he  lives  to  the  utmost  span  of  life,  the  fact 
that  every  man  is  simply  a  little  force  in  the 
onmarch  and  uprush  of  the  world's  mighty  prog 
ress,  is  clearly  seen  and  indicated : 

Why  need  I  seek  some  burden  small  to  bear 
Before  I  go? 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL        147 

Will  not  a  host  of  nobler  souls  be  here, 

Heaven's  will  to  do? 
Of  stronger  hands,  unfailing,  unafraid? 
O  silly  soul!  what  matters  ray  small  aid 

Before  I  go! 

Tis  a  child's  longing,  on  the  beach  at  play: 

"Before  I  go, " 
He  begs  the  beckoning  mother,  "  let  me  stay 

One  shell  to  throw!" 

'Tis  coming  night ;  the  great  sea  climbs  the  shore — 
"Ah,  let  me  toss  one  little  pebble  more, 

Before  I  go!"  — A  Foolish  Wish. 


None  the  less  he  holds  that  this  little  has  its  place. 
It  has  its  worth,  only  it  must  be  rightly  conceived. 
It  is  part  of  the  race  movement.  Then,  too,  he 
seems  to  feel  that  work  is  not  ended  by  the  com 
ing  of  death.  Rather,  that  is  the  new  beginning 
and  the  larger  opportunity.  Man  does  not  cease 
to  be  a  coworker  with  God  when  the  clock  of 
the  earthly  life  ceases  to  tick  and  strike.  Life's 
richest  fruitage — indeed,  the  fulfillment  of  its  hopes 
and  yearnings — is  found  in  the  days  and  services 
that  are  to  be.  Here  is  one  who  is  moping  and 
repining  because  adversities  and  difficulties  hinder 
and  he  cannot  forth  and  toil  and  achieve  as  his 
impelling  spirit  desires.  Then 

Suddenly  there  came  a  day 
When  he  flung  his  gloom  away. 
Something  hinted  help  was  near: 
Winds  were  fresh  and  sky  was  clear; 


148  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Light  he  stepped,  and  firmly  planned, — 

Some  good  news  was  close  at  hand 

Truly:  for  when  day  was  done, 

He  was  lying  all  alone, 

Fretted  pulse  had  ceased  to  beat, 

Very  still  were  hands  and  feet, 

And  the  robins  through  the  long 

Twilight  sang  his  slumber  song. — Fulfillment. 

Ill 

SELF  OR  SERVICE 

In  Mr.  Sill's  philosophy,  as  in  his  poetry,  the 
chief  thing  is  life.  To  him  life  is  opportunity. 
The  sacredness  of  the  common  ways  and  the  rich 
implications  of  ordinary  things  is  with  him  a  firm 
faith.  In  his  singing  is  a  strong  and  earnest  call 
to  men  to  rightly  conceive  their  life  and  its  work. 
There  is  no  room  in  his  thought  for  the  man  who 
would  repine  and  wail,  and  seclude  himself 
from  the  activities  and  duties,  the  oppositions  and 
sorrows  of  life.  The  sacredness  and  dignity  of 
the  world  and  its  work  comes  clearly  to  view  in 
his  poems.  He  feels  with  Mrs.  Browning  that 

Earth's  crammed  with  heaven, 
And  every  common  bush  aflame  with  God. 

Perhaps  the  fullest  treatment  of  this  truth  is 
found  in  the  poem  that  gives  its  name  to  one  of  the 
little  volumes  that  we  are  considering — "The 
Hermitage."  The  slender  thread  of  romance  that 
runs  through  the  poem  may  be  briefly  stated.  A 


SELF  OR  SERVICE  149 

man  loves  and  at  times  feels  that  his  love  is  recip 
rocated,  but  a  ring  glistening  on  the  finger  of  his 
beloved  causes  him  to  think  that  she  has  given 
herself  to  another,  and  so  seals  his  lips.  In  disap 
pointment  and  bitterness  of  spirit  he  flings  him 
self  out  of  the  towns  and  cities,  away  from  the 
haunts  of  men,  away  from  all  the  engagements, 
business,  and  duties  of  modern  life;  leaves  the 
East,  journeys  to  the  sunny  heights  of  the  Cali 
fornia  mountains.  There  in  quietness  and  isola 
tion,  neither  troubled  nor  troubling,  he  will  lead 
and  live  his  life: 

Old  World — old,  foolish,  wicked  World — farewell! 

I  will  go  seek  in  far-off  lands 

Some  quiet  corner,  where  my  years  shall  be 

Still  as  the  shadow  of  a  brooding  bird 

That  stirs  but  with  her  heart-beats.     Far,  unheard 

May  wrangle  on  the  noisy  human  host, 

While  I  will  face  my  Life,  that  silent  ghost, 

And  force  it  speak  what  it  would  have  with  me. 

He  will  give  himself  to  the  study  of  nature; 
grow  wise  through  communion  and  fellowship; 
become  intellectually  rich  and  morally  strong 
by  this  intimate,  first-hand  contact  with  the 
elemental  things.  Thus  he  thinks  he  will  be  ready 
for  the  larger  life  of  the  future: 

So  shall  it  be,  that,  when  I  stand 
On  that  next  planet's  ruddy-shimmering  strand, 
I  shall  not  seem  a  pert  and  forward  child 
Seeking  to  dabble  in  abstruser  lore 


150  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

With  alphabet  unlearned,  who  in  disgrace 

Returns,  upon  his  primer  yet  to  pore — 

But  those  examiners,  all  wise  and  mild, 

Shall  gently  lead  me  to  my  place, 

As  one  that  faithfully  did  trace 

These  simpler  earthly  records  o'er  and  o'er. 

Of  course,  it  does  not  satisfy.  It  pales  and  palls 
after  a  while.  The  longing  for  activity,  the  ques 
tions  of  duty  to  his  kind  come  to  perplex  and  dis 
turb  him.  Just  then,  when  he  is  restless,  and 
questioning  if,  after  all,  he  has  not  made  a  grievous 
blunder,  he  gets  a  glimpse  in  a  near-by  town  of  a 
face  and  figure  that  remind  him  of  his  beloved. 
What  is  she  doing  there  ?  Is  she  seeking  him  ? 
Is  it  all  a  dream  ?  A  letter  brings  her  to  him  as 
he  is  sick  and  despairing,  and  he  learns  that  the 
ring  that  sealed  his  lips  was  a  brother's  gift. 

The  story  is,  as  I  have  said,  only  a  slender 
thread  on  which  the  poet  strings  the  precious  pearls 
of  his  thought  concerning  the  worth  and  wealth 
of  the  ordinary  life.  For  be  it  remembered  that 
this  man  was  no  petted  and  pampered  favorite 
of  society;  not  a  man  of  ease,  and  wealth,  and 
leisure.  No,  his  was  just 

A  life, — a  common,  cleanly,  quiet  life, 
Full  of  good  citizenship  and  repute, 
New,  but  with  promise  of  prosperity, — 
A  well-bred,  fair,  young-gentlemanly  life. 

At  first  the  youth  rejoices  in  his  isolation.  He 
thinks  that  he  is  free,  that  he  has  found  the  secret 


SELF  OR  SERVICE  151 

of  growth,  and  strength,  and  wisdom.  And  the 
poet  lets  him  think  and  speak  out  his  thought, 
and  thereby  he  shows  us  one  of  the  great  fallacies 
of  life: 

Man  rises  best  alone: 

Upward  his  thoughts  stream,  like  the  leaping  flame, 

Whose  base  is  tempest-blown; 

Upward  and  skyward,  since  from  thence  they  came, 

And  thither  they  must  flow. 

If  linked  in  threes,  and  fives, 

However  heavenward  the  spirit  strives, 

The  lowest  stature  draws  the  highest  down — 

The  king  must  keep  the  level  of  the  clown. 

The  grosser  matter  has  the  greater  power 

In  all  attraction;  every  hour 

We  slide  and  slip  to  lower  scales, 

Till  weary  aspiration  fails, 

And  that  keen  fire  which  might  have  pierced  the  skies 

Is  quenched  and  killed  in  one  another's  eyes. 

Scattered  through  the  meditations  of  this  lonely 
man  are  gems  of  truth  shining  out  despite  the 
isolation  and  the  imperfect  type  of  life  to  which 
he  has  committed  himself;  as  when  he  says: 

If  men  but  knew  the  mazes  of  the  brain 
And  all  its  crowded  pictures,  they  would  need 
No  Louvre  or  Vatican:  behind  our  brows 
Intricate  galleries  are  built,  whose  walls 
Are  rich  with  all  the  splendors  of  a  life. 

And,  again,  how  clearly  does  he  point  out  the 
faithful  witness  in  the  human  heart — courageous 
conscience,  that  will  not  be  frightened  or  stilled, 


152  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

that  follows  man  as  his  shadow,  that  speaks  to 
him  of  truth  and  duty,  morning,  noon,  and  mid 
night! — 

All  the  long  nights — those  memory-haunted  nights, 
When  sleepless  conscience  would  not  let  me  sleep, 
But  stung,  and  stung,  and  pointed  to  the  world 
Which  like  a  coward  I  had  left  behind. 

And,  as  conscience  pricks  and  stings,  the  clouded 
judgment  begins  to  clear.  Things  once  more 
appear  in  true  proportion  and  in  right  relations. 
He  is  able  to  see  the  fallacy  in  his  own  partial  and 
selfish  reasoning.  The  insufficiency  of  the  isolated 
and  self-full  life  is  clearly  seen.  The  truth  that 
even  such  power,  and  thought,  and  vision  as  he 
had  were  an  inheritance  from  the  race  flashed 
through  his  brain,  and  made  him  say: 

I  scorned  books:  to  those  same  books 
I  owe  the  power  to  scorn  them. 

I  despised 

Men :  from  themselves  I  drew  the  pure  ideal 
By  which  to  measure  them. 

At  woman's  love 
I  laughed:  but  to  that  love  I  owe 
The  hunger  for  a  more  abiding  love. 

What  do  I  here  alone? 

Unmarried  to  the  steel,  the  flint  is  cold: 
Strike  one  to  the  other,  and  they  wake  in  fire. 

A  solitary  fagot  will  not  burn: 
Bring  two,  and  cheerily  the  flame  ascends. 
Alone,  man  is  a  lifeless  stone;  or  lies 
A  charring  ember,  smoldering  into  ash. 


SELF  OR  SERVICE  153 

Also  he  begins  to  see  that  he  has  some  part  in 
the  world's  work — some  part  that  will  not  be  done 
save  as  he  does  it.  He  has  no  right  to  shirk. 
God  truly  guides,  controls,  and  works,  but  does 
so  through  men  whom  he  has  created  and  fitted 
for  the  labor  and  duty  of  life: 

Shame!  that  a  man  with  hand  and  brain 
Should,  like  a  lovelorn  girl,  complain, 
Rhyming  his  dainty  woes  anew, 
When  there  is  honest  work  to  do! 

What  work,  what  work?     Is  God  not  wise 

To  rule  the  world  He  could  devise? 

Yet  see  thou,  though  the  realm  be  His, 

He  governs  it  by  deputies. 

Enough  to  know  of  Chance  and  Luck, 

The  stroke  we  choose  to  strike  is  struck; 

The  deed  we  slight  will  slighted  be, 

In  spite  of  all  Necessity. 

The  Parcae's  web  of  good  and  ill 

They  weave  with  human  shuttles  still, 

And  fate  is  fate  through  man's  free  will. 

It  is  a  keen,  true,  and  well-merited  rebuke  that 
the  selfish  hermit  receives  from  the  lips  of  the 
woman  he  loved  and  loves,  but  whom  he  left 
without  a  word  of  explanation,  though,  as  she  tells 
him,  he  must  have  known  her  love: 

"I  am  come,  because  you  called  to  me  to  come. 
What  were  all  other  voices  when  I  heard 
The  voice  of  my  own  soul's  soul  call  to  me? 
You  knew  I  loved  you — oh,  you  must  have  known! 
Was  it  a  noble  thing  to  do,  you  think, 
ii 


154  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

To  leave  a  lonely  girl  to  die  down  there 

In  the  great  empty  world,  and  come  up  here 

To  make  a  martyr's  pillar  of  your  pride? 

There  has  been  nobler  work  done,  there  in  the  world, 

Than  you  have  done  this  year!" 

Then  cried  the  man: 

"O  God,  I  am  not  worthy  of  thy  gifts! 

Let  me  find  penance,  till,  years  hence,  perchance, 

Made  pure  by  toil,  and  scourged  with  pain  and  prayer" — 

Then  a  voice  answered  through  His  creature's  lips, — 

"God  asks  no  penance  but  a  better  life* 

He  purifies  by  pain — He  only;  'tis 

A  remedy  too  dangerous  for  our 

Blind  pharmacy." 

It  is  the  same  truth  that  is  taught  by  Tennyson 
in  "The  Palace  of  Art."  Some  seek  isolation 
because  of  pride.  They  think  themselves  supe 
rior,  they  will  not  mingle  with  the  common  herd. 
They  are  better  than  their  fellows.  They  will 
give  themselves  to  the  heights  of  intellectual  and 
artistic  contemplation.  Others  flee  the  world 
and  its  work  because  they  think  it  has  used  them 
ill.  They  have  been  disappointed,  opposed,  unap 
preciated.  So  they  will  shake  its  dust  from  their 
feet.  They  will  not  concern  themselves  with  its 
problems,  its  needs,  or  its  work.  Either  way  lies 
selfishness  and  sin.  All  the  experiences  of  life 
are  for  man's  enrichment  and  development.  His 
fellows  need  him,  and  not  less  he  needs  his  fellows. 
"God  saw  that  it  was  not  good  for  man  to  be 


SELF  OR  SERVICE  155 

alone"  is  a  truth  wider  in  its  range  than  is  usually 
considered.  And  this  is  the  truth  that  our  poet 
has  grasped  and  worked  out  in  "The  Hermitage." 
Whatever  life  brings,  man's  place  is  with  his  fel 
lows,  weeping  and  rejoicing,  and  striving  and 
toiling  with  them  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the 
time  when 

the  whole  round  world  shall  every  way 
Be  bound  with  chains  of  gold  about  the  feet  of  God. 


ILLUSTRATION  OF  CHRISTIAN 

INFLUENCE 

I 

IN  GENERAL 

IN  seeking  for  illustrations  of  the  influence  of 
Christian  thought  upon  the  thought  and  work 
of  this  poet,  we  will  not  find  them,  as  in  Gilder, 
in  a  large  and  free  dealing  with  fundamental 
Christian  truths.  For  instance,  there  is  in  Sill 
no  such  sustained  attention  as  we  find  in 
Gilder  to  such  themes  as  Christ,  Faith,  and 
Immortality.  They  are  touched,  hinted  at,  sug 
gested,  but  there  is  nothing  like  a  full  and 
adequate  treatment.  Neither  will  we  find  in  our 
author  that  devotion  to  one  main  theme,  and 
absorption  in  it — its  elucidation  and  application 
in  many  ways  and  to  all  realms  of  life — that  is  so 
characteristic  a  feature  of  Markham.  Rather 
will  it  be  found  that  his  whole  thinking  is  suffused 
with  the  spirit  and  truth  of  Christianity.  And 
while  he  may  not  definitely  or  specifically  sing  of 
these  truths,  yet  whatever  he  touches  is  colored 
with  the  truth  and  faith  that  beats  with  his  blood 
and  is  warp  and  woof  of  his  life.  That  this  is 

so  is  evident  from  what  has  already  been  noted 

156 


THE  SENSE  OF  GOD  157 

concerning  "The  Hermitage."  The  old  monastic 
conception  of  life  was,  to  say  the  least,  an  imperfect 
representation  of  real  religion.  The  Baptist  was 
an  ascetic,  but  Jesus  was  a  man  of  the  villages  and 
towns,  a  frequenter  of  weddings  and  feasts.  True 
Christianity  is  a  social  brotherhood  and  has  an 
outlook  on  the  entirety  of  life.  It  teaches  that  all 
life's  experiences  rightly  received  and  rightly  used 
will  make  for  individual  uplift  and  social  better 
ment.  Paul  must  not  whine  and  take  himself 
from  the  work  of  life  because  of  some  disappoint 
ment,  or  imperfect  equipment  for  life  and  work. 
No,  his  business  is  so  to  relate  himself  to  this  expe 
rience  that  his  use  of  it  shall  be  a  source  of  inspi 
ration  and  a  tower  of  strength  to  his  fellows! 
And  this  is  the  spiritual  significance  of  "The 
Hermitage." 

II 

THE   SENSE   OF   GOD 

It  is  in  some  such  way  as  this  that  we  get  at  the 
influence  of  God  upon  our  author.  One  will  not 
find  very  many  direct  treatments  of  this  theme, 
it  is  true;  but  none  the  less  the  consciousness  of 
God,  the  sense  of  his  presence,  the  worth  of  the 
worshipful  and  spiritual  instinct,  all  this  is  implicit 
in  much  that  Mr.  Sill  has  written.  Some  words 
let  fall  by  the  hermit  in  his  musings  evidence  this. 


158  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

What  a  beautiful  metaphor  is  that  in  which  he 
speaks  of  the  coming  and  going  of  the  image  of 
God  in  human  hearts! — 

The  voice  of  my  wild  brook  is  marvelous; 
Leaning  above  it  from  a  jutting  rock 
To  watch  the  image  of  my  face,  that  forms 
And  breaks,  and  forms  again  (as  the  image  of  God 
Is  broken  and  regathered  in  a  soul),     .     .     . 

— The  Hermitage. 

Thus  he  teaches  the  truth  of  the  inshining  and  out 
shining  of  God,  when  the  soul  of  man  is  in  har 
mony  and  peace  with  him,  and  the  obscuring  of 
that  image  by  the  turmoil  and  trouble,  the  murk 
and  dark  of  sin.  We  seek  for  rest  and  peace,  and 
find  it  not.  We  are  worried,  distressed,  and  discon 
tented,  and  find  no  quiet  for  our  souls.  We  forget 
that  God  is  the  secret  and  the  source  of  true  con 
tentment.  But  our  poet  forgets  not.  A  quiet 
mind  that  trusts  in  God  finds  the  rest  that  thou 
sands  vainly  seek: 

One  key  is  solitude,  and  silence  one, 
And  one  a  quiet  mind,  content  to  rest 
In  God's  sufficiency,  and  take  His  world, 
Not  dabbling  all  the  Master's  work  to  death 
With  our  small  interference.     God  is  God. 

— The  Hermitage. 

The  same  great  and  needful  lesson  is  inculcated 
in  some  lines  that  are  in  truth  a  fine  comment  on 
the  text,  "All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God. "  The  poet  is  singing  of  the  varied 


THE  SENSE  OF  GOD  159 

and  changeful  experiences  that  come  to  us  as  we 
pass  on  our  checkered  way — the  loves  and  griefs, 
the  hopes  and  fears,  the  pains,  the  burdens,  and 
the  tangled  threads  of  life  that  at  the  time  seem 
harsh,  inexplicable,  and  incapable  of  unravelment. 
What  is  the  rich,  full  meaning  and  outcome  of  all 
this  ?  Hear  him: 

But  loves  and  hopes  have  left  us  in  their  place, 
Thank  God!  a  gentle  grace, 
A  patience,  a  belief  in  His  good  time, 
Worth  more  than  all  Earth's  joys  to  which  we  climb. 

— Retrospect. 

And  how  exquisitely  is  expressed  the  soul's  need 
for  God,  the  truth  that  he  and  he  only  is  the  satis 
fying  portion  in  time  and  in  eternity,  in  "The 
Things  that  Will  Not  Die"!  Here,  one  who  is  on 
the  eternal  borderland  is  looking  earthward  and 
recounting  the  things  that  will  abide,  and  that  he 
is  glad  will  abide  everywhere  and  forever.  The 
vision  fills  his  soul  with  the  sense  of  beauty  and 
peace,  and  in  deep  contentment  he  sings : 

And  it  is  well  that  when  these  feet  have  pressed 
The  outward  path  from  earth,  'twill  not  seem  sad 

To  them  that  stay;  but  they  who  love  me  best 
Will  be  most  glad 
That  such  a  long  unquiet  now  has  had, 

At  last,  a  gift  of  perfect  peace  and  rest. 

His  consciousness  of  the  Fatherhood  and  lov- 
ingness  of  God  is  indicated  and  voiced  in  two 
poems,  the  one  a  depiction  of  an  Eastern  winter 


160  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

with  its  bleak  and  bitter  winds  that  bite  and 
chill  and  shrivel  body  and  mind.  He  longs  for 
the  genial  clime  that  he  has  known,  with  its 
warmth  and  cheer  and  light,  and  with  that  mental 
and  spiritual  warmth  and  enlargement  that  he 
images  as  coming  through  the  influence  of  the 
sunnier  clime: 

Ah,  give  me  back  the  clime  I  know 
Where  all  the  year  geraniums  blow, 
And  hyacinth-buds  bloom  white  for  snow; 

Where  man  may  let  earth's  beauty  thaw 
The  wintry  creed  which  Calvin  saw, 
That  God  is  only  Power  and  Law; 

And  out  of  Nature's  bible  prove, 
That  here  below  as  there  above 
Our  Maker — Father — God — is  Love. 

—Eastern  Winter. 

The  other  is  a  simple  prayer;  a  prayer  for 
the  Father's  love  and  guidance  and  care;  a 
prayer  that  seems  so  human  and  real  that  it  must 
come  forth  of  a  heart  that  felt  its  need  of  the 
Father's  presence  and  comfort  and  love: 

Oh,  love  us,  for  we  love  thee,  Maker — God! 

And  would  creep  near  thy  hand, 
And  call  thee  "Father,  Father,"  from  the  sod 

Where  by  our  graves  we  stand, 
And  pray  to  touch,  fearless  of  scorn  or  blame, 
Thy  garment's  hem,  which  Truth  and  Good  we  name. 

— A  Prayer. 

How  many  of  us  professing  to  be  children  of 
faith  are  yet  all  our  lifetime  in  bondage  to  doubt! 


THE  SENSE  OF  GOD  161 

How  often,  asserting  with  our  lips  that  we  believe 
in  God,  do  our  actions  and  worriments  express 
disbelief  in  the  ways  and  works  of  God!  We  are 
fearful  of  ourselves,  distrustful  of  our  fellows,  and 
not  quite  sure  of  God.  There  is  a  false  view  of 
things  current  even  in  the  religious  world.  Lis 
tening  to  much  of  the  speaking  and  preaching  of 
to-day,  one  would  think  that  the  world-movement 
was  making  for  evil;  that  men  were  more  and 
more  under  the  sway  and  power  of  sin;  that  the 
cause  of  truth  and  righteousness  was  waning;  that 
God  had  abdicated,  and  that  the  devil  was  seated 
on  the  throne  of  the  universe.  It  is  rank  atheism. 
This  phase  of  thought  was  understood  by  Sill,  and 
he  has  depicted  it  in  "Roland"  and  shown  its 
fallacy.  The  man  is  full  of  foolish  fear,  unfaith, 
and  unrest.  His  whole  soul  is  vexed,  disturbed, 
and  turbulent.  He  is  wrong  and  hence  every 
thing  is  twisted  and  awry.  His  salvation  comes 
by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  like  Paul  he  "was  not 
disobedient  unto  the  heavenly  vision": 

He  knew  not  where  the  vision  fell, 

Only  all  things  grew  plain — 
As  if  some  thatch  broke  through  and  let 

A  sunbeam  cross  his  brain. 

In  beauty  flushed  the  morning  light, 

With  blessing  dropped  the  rain, 
All  creatures  were  to  him  most  fair, 

Nor  anything  in  vain. 


162  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

He  breathed  the  space  that  links  the  stars, 

He  rested  on  God's  arm — 
A  man  unmoved  by  accident, 

Untouched  by  any  harm. 

The  weary  doubt  if  all  is  good, 

The  doubt  if  all  is  ill, 
He  left  to  Him  who  leaves  to  us 

To  know  that  all  is  well. 

The  vision  is  an  open  one.  Any  man  who  wills 
may  see  it;  and  when  all  men  see  it,  then  the 
"tired  earth  will  taste  heaven's  honey-dew  of 
rest." 

That  God  is  the  living  God,  in  touch  with  men 
and  affairs  to-day,  interested  in  the  world  life,  able 
to  reveal  himself  in  counsel,  warning,  and  inspi 
ration  to  the  individual,  is  an  evident  faith  of  our 
author.  One  brief  poem  is  sufficient  illustration 
of  this.  It  is  so  simple,  so  sure,  and  so  perfect  that 
nothing  else  is  needed  to  certify  the  influence  of 
this  truth  upon  him  who  wrote  it.  Its  voice  is 
the  utterance  of  one  who  like  Elijah  has  tarried 
in  the  mount  and  heard  for  himself — who  has 
felt  and  known.  Its  conclusion  is : 

Let  the  noisy  crowd  go  by: 

In  thy  lonely  watch  on  high, 

Far  from  the  chattering  tongues  of  men, 

Sitting  above  their  call  or  ken, 

Free  from  links  of  manner  and  form 

Thou  shalt  learn  of  the  winge"d  storm — 

God  shall  speak  to  thee  out  of  the  sky. 

— Solitudt. 


THE  SENSE  OF  GOD  163 

There  is  a  poem  that  reveals  Mr.  Sill's  thought 
about  Sunday  and  the  worth  of  worship  that  ought 
not  to  be  omitted.  It  is  specially  valuable  in  this 
day  when  the  attempt  is  made,  by  those  who  ought 
to  know  better,  to  destroy  the  essential  character 
istics  of  this  day.  Too  long  we  have  allowed  the 
opponents  of  the  day  to  delude  men  with  the 
notion  that  Sunday  was  a  day  dull,  dreary,  and 
forbidding;  that  worship  was  tedious  and  weari 
some.  The  reverse  may  be  true,  ought  to  be  true, 
and  will  be  true  when  we  hold  and  embody  the 
true  ideal.  Sunday  ought  to  be  the  brightest  and 
cheeriest  day  of  the  seven,  and  will  be  made  such 
when  Christianity  rightly  conceives  and  practices 
its  high  privilege  of  gladsome,  cheery,  inspira 
tional  prayer  and  praise.  This  is  the  ideal  that 
our  poet  depicts,  and  the  sooner  it  is  realized  the 
better  for  mankind: 


SUNDAY 

Not  a  dread  cavern,  hoar  with  damp  and  mold, 
Where  I  must  creep,  and  in  the  dark  and  cold 

Offer  some  awful  incense  at  a  shrine 

That  hath  no  more  divine 
Than  that  'tis  far  from  life,  and  stern,  and  old; 

But  a  bright  hilltop  in  the  breezy  air, 
Full  of  the  morning  freshness  high  and  clear, 

Where  I  may  climb  and  drink  the  pure,  new  day, 

And  see  where  winds  away 
The  path  that  God  would  send  me,  shining  fair. 


164  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

III 

THE   DIGNITY  AND  WORTH  OF  LIFE 

As  has  elsewhere  been  noted,  a  chief  emphasis 
of  Mr.  Sill  is  upon  life — the  average,  everyday, 
common  life  and  duty  of  man.  Many  of  his  poems 
treat  of  this  directly,  and  others  by  way  of  sugges 
tion  and  implication.  There  is  a  group  of  poems, 
small  in  number  but  of  great  value,  that  treats 
of  the  dignity,  the  sacredness,  and  the  high  quality 
of  every  day,  and  of  the  "day's  work."  They 
seem  to  me  to  have  caught  at  least  something  of 
their  inspiration  from  the  Master's  parables  of 
"the  pounds"  and  "the  talents."  We  think  our 
poor  brief  day  will  soon  be  sped,  and  that  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  make  much  effort.  The  time  is 
so  short,  the  chance  so  limited,  the  margin  of 
opportunity  so  meager!  We  are  thinking  of  the 
brevity  of  time  and  the  swift  coming  of  death. 
Our  poet  thinks  of  life  and  the  richness  of  the 
present  hour.  The  opportunity  of  to-day  is  the 
truth  that  cheers  and  inspires  him  as  he  faces  all 
the  facts,  and  so  with  gay  cheer  and  confidence 
he  cries: 

Let  it  come,  when  come  it  must; 
But  To- Day  from  out  the  dust 
Blooms  and  brightens  like  a  flower, 
Fair  with  love,  and  faith,  and  power. 

— Carpe  Diem. 


DIGNITY  AND  WORTH  OF  LIFE         165 

And  the  same  truth,  only  wider  and  deeper  in 
its  reach,  is  unfolded  in  what  is  perhaps  one  of  the 
best  known  of  Mr.  Sill's  poems,  "Life."  We 
want  life  to  be  a  success.  We  fancy,  all  too  often, 
that  there  will  come  to  us  some  dramatic  possi 
bility,  some  spectacular  moment,  some  great 
thing  to  be  done  at  a  stroke!  Sometimes  that  is 
true,  but  rarely.  The  law  is  otherwise.  It  is  the 
old  fable  of  the  hare  and  the  tortoise.  The  men 
who  rightly  esteem  the  days  as  they  come  and  go, 
who  see  the  possibility  that  sleeps  in  the  common 
and  disregarded,  who  make  the  most  and  best  of 
these  things  that  others  waste,  are  the  men  who 
come  to  achievement  and  fruition.  As  to-day,  in 
manufactures,  fortunes  are  found  in  what  not  long 
since  was  cast  out  as  waste  and  void,  so  the  for 
tune  of  life  may  be  found  in  the  moments  and  days 
that  we  so  lightly  esteem  and  so  carelessly  waste: 

Forenoon  and  afternoon  and  night, — Forenoon, 
And  afternoon,  and  night, — Forenoon,  and — what! 
The  empty  song  repeats  itself.     No  more? 
Yea,  that  is  Life:  make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  Time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  won. 

And  how  true  it  is  that  when  in  the  battle  of  life 
the  conflict  grows  hard  and  dangers  thicken, 
then  we  grow  frightened  and  cowardly!  We  seek 
some  excuse,  some  reason  for  going  to  the  rear, 
for  dropping  out  of  sight:  we  are  not  just  well 


166  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

equipped  for  this  battle,  we  have  not  the  place  in 
the  line  that  we  think  we  ought  to  have,  we  have 
not  been  appreciated  nor  our  efforts  thus  far 
rightly  regarded  or  rewarded.  The  battle  of 
life  roars  and  rages  all  about;  it's  a  good  time  to 
slip  away  under  cover  of  the  cloud  of  smoke,  and 
ease  our  conscience  by  some  such  excuse  as  has 
been  noted.  The  truth  is  we  are  wanting  in  sol 
dierly  courage  and  character.  The  true  warrior  is 
he  who  responds  to  his  commander's  order,  "Go 
in  anywhere,  there's  beautiful  fighting  all  along  the 
line."  A  man's  opportunity  is  not  in  his  position, 
his  weaponry,  or  his  friendships,  but  in  himself. 
The  intrepidity,  the  cheer,  the  resourcefulness, 
the  stout-heartedness  of  the  true  soldier  will  repair 
all  damage,  will  overleap  all  obstacles,  will  forge 
fit  weaponry,  will  find  or  make  its  own  oppor 
tunity,  and  against  all  odds  will  snatch  victory 
out  of  the  jaws  of  defeat.  The  sons  of  the  King 
in  the  battle  and  work  of  life  are  no  dawdling, 
complaining,  pessimistic  shirkers  and  deserters! 
They  partake  the  spirit,  and  cheer,  and  confidence 
of  the  Father,  and  the  spirit  in  them  makes  mighty 
in  their  hearts  the  weaponry  that  less  high-souled 
men  cast  aside  as  worthless  and  useless.  All  this 
Mr.  Sill  depicts  most  vividly  in  a  little  poem 
instinct  with  the  spirit  of  struggle  and  suffused 
with  the  atmosphere  of  battle.  The  craven  com- 


DIGNITY  AND  WORTH  OF  LIFE  167 

plains  of  his  sword,  breaks  and  flings  away,  and 
like  a  coward  skulks  from  the  fight: 

Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand, 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle  shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down, 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 

— Opportunity. 

Another  group  of  songs  there  is  that  is  rich 
in  the  high  moral  courage  that  is  so  character 
istic  a  quality  of  the  New  Testament.  All 
through  these  verses  one  catches  the  tones  of  a 
manly  voice  calling  upon  his  fellows  in  the  very 
spirit  of  high  Christian  devotion  and  chivalry  to 
give  themselves  to  the  work  of  life  with  earnest 
ness,  loyalty,  and  endurance  to  the  last.  It  is  this 
truth  that  enables  him  to  see  that  suicide  is  cow 
ardice,  the  last  unavailing  refuge  of  a  moral  weak 
ling;  even  the  outcasts  on  the  farther  shore  will 
point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  this  shirker  of  life's 
problems  as  they  say,  "See  the  wretch  that  dared 
not  live!"  No  wonder  that  the  prayer  for  death  is 
the  most  blind  and  foolish  of  prayers.  No  wonder 
that  he  who  rushes  on  death  before  his  time  is  reck 
oned  among  the  cravens  and  cowards  of  the  race: 

Blindest  and  most  frantic  prayer, 

Clutching  at  a  senseless  boon, 
His  that  begs,  in  mad  despair, 

Death  to  come ; — he  comes  so  soon ! 

— The  Deserter. 


i68  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

And  as  one  should  not  hasten  the  hour  of  his 
departure,  even  so  he  need  have  no  fear  of  the  com 
ing  of  that  hour.  It  is  not  his  to  hasten  or  to 
hinder.  His  it  is  to  meet  the  varied  experiences  of 
time  with  the  high  courage  of  the  inner  life.  He 
is  not  to  whimper  or  whine,  to  fear  or  tremble,  to 
grow  bitter  or  morose.  Rather  with  face  of  cheer 
and  heart  of  hope  is  he  to  play  a  man's  part  and 
do  a  man's  work  in  a  manly  way  in  this  world, 
which  of  divine  intent  is  made  up  of  sunshine  and 
shadow,  of  prosperity  and  adversity,  of  war  and 
peace: 

Let  me  lift  up  my  head 
And  firmly,  as  with  inner  courage,  tread 
Mine  own  appointed  way,  on  mandates  high. 

Let  me  have  lived  my  life,  not  cowered  until 
The  unhindered  and  unhastened  hour  was  here. 
So  soon — what  is  there  in  the  world  to  fear? 

— "Quern  Metui  Moritura?" 

With  keen  insight  into  the  ways  of  men  he 
reveals  in  "Dare  You?"  the  hemispheres  that 
must  be  united  in  order  that  moral  courage  may 
be  complete  and  full-orbed.  Shrewdly  he  sees 
into  the  sophistry  of  man  whereby  he  is  wont  to 
think  that  his  courage  is  the  only  courage,  and  that 
the  other  man's  way  is  the  way  of  cowardice. 
Under  guise  of  a  conversation  between  doubting 
Thomas  and  loving  John  this  truth  shines  clear. 
Thomas  the  doubter  thinks  that  his  attitude 


DIGNITY  AND  WORTH  OF  LIFE          169 

betokens  the  highest  quality  of  courage,  and  doubt 
less  thinks  himself  the  very  embodiment  of  moral 
heroism,  and  so  he  asks: 

"Tell  me  now,  John,  dare  you  be 
One  of  the  minority? 
To  be  lonely  in  your  thought, 
Never  visited  nor  sought, 
Shunned  with  secret  shrug,  to  go 
Through  the  world  esteemed  its  foe?' 

But  John  has  a  question  ready.  He  realizes 
that  there  is  courage  not  only  in  the  one  who  says, 
"I  doubt,"  but  that  it  ofttimes  requires  an  even 
greater  courage  to  say,  "  I  believe. "  If  it  requires 
courage  to  be  singular  and  alone,  so  also,  and 
possibly  more  so,  to  be  one  of  the  common  crowd 
and  to  be  esteemed  as  possessing  no  originality 
or  initiative,  just  because  one  sees  that  the  com 
mon  conviction  and  view  is,  after  all,  the  wise 
and  the  true.  And  so  he  turns  with  his  counter 
question: 

"Thomas,  do  you  dare  to  be 

Of  the  great  majority? 

To  be  only,  as  the  rest, 

With  Heaven's  common  comforts  blessed; 

To  accept,  in  humble  part, 

Truth  that  shines  on  every  heart?" 

But  moral  courage  must  at  times  incarnate  itself 
in  some  mighty  reformer — some  man  who  sees 
the  world's  woe  and  need,  and  has  clear  vision  of  at 


12 


170  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

least  some  phase  of  the  remedy;  some  Luther  who 
will  stand  against  ecclesiastical  and  civil  power; 
some  Garrison  who  "will  not  retract  or  equivocate, 
and  who  will  be  heard";  some  Neal  Dow  about 
whom  the  temperance  hosts  can  rally.  When  such 
a  man  comes  he  will  not  be  shaken  in  his  purpose. 
The  very  spirit  of  the  gospel,  in  its  opposition  to 
intrenched  and  buttressed  wrong,  in  its  hatred 
of  the  sin  and  hoary  customs  that  oppress  and 
destroy,  in  its  hunger  for  and  devotion  to  the 
Righteousness  that  uplifts  and  develops,  is  seen  in 
our  poet's  conception  of  "The  Reformer": 

Before  the  monstrous  wrong  he  sets  him  down — 
One  man  against  a  stone-walled  city  of  sin. 

Let  him  lie  down  and  die:  what  is  the  right, 
And  where  is  justice,  in  a  world  like  this? 
But  by  and  by,  earth  shakes  herself,  impatient; 
And  down,  in  one  great  roar  of  ruin,  crash 
Watchtower  and  citadel  and  battlements. 
When  the  red  dust  has  cleared,  the  lonely  soldier 
Stands  with  strange  thoughts  beneath  the  friendly 
stars. 

And  in  his  characterization  and  unfoldment  of 
the  truth  of  life  the  poet  has  not  forgotten  to  put 
due  emphasis  upon  the  need  of  service  and 
unselfish  thoughtfulness  for  others.  This  phase 
of  his  thought  has  been  already  touched  upon  in 
what  has  been  said  concerning  his  poems  entitled 
"Service"  and  "The  Singer's  Confession."  It 


DIGNITY  AND  WORTH  OF  LIFE         171 

only  remains  to  say  that  in  "Sibylline  Bartering" 
there  shines  out  the  truth  that  if  one  would  have 
secure  friendships,  and  with  these  all  the  happi 
ness  and  joy  of  life,  he  must  pay  the  price  and 
slay  self-love.  And  the  longer  he  delays  the  greater 
the  price,  for  at  the  end  self-love  must  die  or  friends 
and  joy  will  be  lacking.  One  who  bickers  and 
barters  and  refuses  only  increases  the  cost,  for 
what  at  last  he  gets  is  only  what  he  might  have  had 
from  youth  up  if  he  had  been  willing  to  pay  what 
in  the  end  he  had  to  pay: 

Ready  now  to  pay 
The  perfect  love  that  leaves  no  self  to  slay! 

And  in  "The  Secret"  we  see  that  the  way  to 
have  the  glory  and  the  joy  of  life,  to  feel  the  wonder 
and  beauty,  the  wealth  and  worth  of  the  world, 
of  men,  of  God — the  way  into  the  very  center 
and  heart  of  life — is  to  be  forgetful  of  self  and  be 
immersed  in  unselfish  thought  and  worthy  work. 
The  man  who  selfishly  seeks  the  joy  and  power  of 
earth  misses  it,  while  he  who  busies  himself  with 
humble  duties,  and  fills  each  day  with  simple 
neighborly  kindnesses,  rejoices  in  its  light  and 
warmth : 

The  blessing  came  because  it  was  not  sought; 
There  was  no  care  if  thou  wert  blest  or  not : 
The  beauty  and  the  wonder  all  thy  thought,,--— 
Thyself  forgot. 


172  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

IV 

THINGS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Though  not  treated  with  anything  like  adequate- 
ness,  yet  it  is  clear  that  some  of  the  great  beliefs 
of  Christendom  strongly  influenced  his  thinking. 
Had  he  lived  longer  there  is  every  reason  to  believe 
that  these  themes  would  have  received  fuller 
recognition,  and  their  influence  on  his  verse  would 
have  been  more  distinctly  manifest.  What 
Romanes  so  happily  calls  "the  ripening  expe 
rience  of  life"  would  almost  of  necessity  have 
directed  his  pen  in  these  channels.  It  is  clear 
from  what  he  has  written  that  to  Mr.  Sill  religion 
was  a  matter  of  spirit  and  life,  not  of  letter  or  sym 
bol.  He  tells  us  that  once  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
day  he  happened  in  a  dim  and  ghostly  sort  of 
chapel  where  old  monks  read  and  the  people 
listened  dreamily  and  drowsily.  Some  one  shifted 
a  shutter  and  the  morning  light  gleamed  upon  the 
reader  and  the  Word,  and  still  he  droned  by  the 
taper's  light  and  the  people  stirred  not  from  their 
listless  dozing: 

And  I  wondered  that,  tinder  that  morning  ray, 

When  night  and  shadow  were  scattered  away, 

The  monk  should  bow  his  locks  of  white 

By  a  taper's  feebly  flickering  light — 

Should  pore,  and  pore,  and  never  seem 

To  notice  the  golden  morning-beam.       — Morning. 


THINGS  OF  THE  SPIRIT  173 

All  of  which  is  a  parable  emphasizing  the  worth- 
lessness  of  form,  the  negativeness  of  dull  acquies 
cence  in  customs  and  ways  and  beliefs  of  the 
past.  Religion  is  of  the  day.  Like  the  sun  in 
the  heavens,  it  is  to  illumine  and  warm,  to  cheer 
and  stir — an  active  and  vital  principle  in  the 
world's  life. 

That  he  feels  the  necessity  of  faith,  and  knows 
the  value  of  trust  in  God  in  such  a  world  as  this, 
is  evident  in  the  little  suggestions,  the  turns  of  ex 
pression,  that  may  be  found  scattered  through 
many  of  his  writings.  In  some  there  is  the  clear 
expression  of  this  necessity.  Life  to  him 
would  be  utterly  inexplicable  on  any  atheistic  basis. 
God — present,  wise,  loving,  and  Fatherly — is 
a  necessity  of  rational  thought.  In  "Five  Lives" 
he  launches  a  shrewd  bit  of  sarcasm  against  the 
ponderous  and  inflated  self-conceit  of  the  various 
schools  of  thought  that  would  reduce  the  world 
to  dull,  dead  matter,  devoid  of  a  divine  presence, 
a  divine  intent,  and  a  divine  control.  It  is  true 
our  poet's  faith  is  not  always  vivid,  and  strong, 
and  resolute.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  halts  and 
wavers  and  falters  when  it  ought  to  walk  with  firm 
footing;  as  when  he  says: 

For  life  is  a  blindfold  game,  and  the  Voice  from  view  is  hid. 
I  face  him  as  best  I  can,  still  groping,  here  and  there, 
For  the  hand  that  has  touched  me  lightly,  the  lips  that  have 
said,   "Declare!"  —Blindfold. 


174  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Still,  though  feeble  and  flickering,  it  is  faith — 
faith  that  may  grow,  and  indeed  does  grow,  into 
something  more  robust  and  vigorous.  He  hears 
the  low  branches  of  the  forest  trees  complain  of  the 
darkness  and  the  gloom,  of  the  grim  and  frightful 
shadows  that  they  seem  to  see.  But  he  hears  as 
well  the  tall  tree  tops  lifting  themselves  skyward 
and  heralding  the  swift,  sure  coming  of  the  dawn. 
It  is  an  image  of  life — a  suggestion  of  what  the  voice 
of  experience  speaks  in  the  recesses  of  the  soul : 

So  Life  stands,  with  a  twilight  world  around; 

Faith  turned  serenely  to  the  steadfast  sky, 
Still  answering  the  heart  that  sweeps  the  ground, 
Sobbing  in  fear,  and  tossing  restlessly — 

"Hush,  hush!     The  Dawn  breaks  o'er  the  Eastern  sea, 
'Tis  but  thine  own  dim  shadow  troubling  thee." 

— Faith. 

And  how  beautifully  and  melodiously  does  he 
sing  of  the  worth  of  simple  and  complete  trust  and 
confidence!  We  weary  and  worry  our  lives  away  in 
foolish  fear  and  restless  discontent,  when  One  has 
said,  "Cast  all  your  care  upon  him;  for  he  careth 
for  you": 

Be  still  and  sleep,  my  soul! 

Now  gentle-footed  Night 
In  softly  shadowed  stole 

Holds  all  the  day  from  sight. 

Thou  hast  no  need  to  wake, 

Thou  art  no  sentinel; 
Love  all  the  care  will  take, 

And  Wisdom  watcheth  well. — Wiegenlied. 


1  KINGS   OF  THE    SPIRIT  175 

That  he  knows  the  Christian  truth  of  the  worth 
of  privation  and  pain,  adversity  and  sorrow,  temp 
tation  and  trial,  in  the  development  of  spiritual 
character  is  very  evident.  A  life  of  smoothness, 
free  from  all  toil  and  struggle,  would  leave  us 
physically  ungirt,  morally  weak,  and  would  make 
for  a  flabby  spirituality.  The  man  who  faces  and 
fights  his  temptations  and  difficulties,  who  sur 
mounts  obstacles,  who  makes  of  hindrances  and 
oppositions  a  solid  pathway  for  his  feet,  is  the  man 
who  will  ultimately  rise 

on  stepping-stones 
Of  his  dead  self  to  higher  things. 

This  is  clearly  shown  in  "Tempted"  and  in 
"Fertility."  Our  poet  has  not  forgotten  that  the 
crown  of  life  is  awarded  to  the  tried  and  tempted 
one  who  is  also  the  conquering  one.  The  influ 
ence  of  the  biblical  conception  of  life  as  a  moral 
warfare,  with  the  reward  for  the  valiant  and 
faithful  soldier  of  truth  and  righteousness  is 
clearly  evident  in  his  writings: 

Patience,  O  weary  heart! 

Let  all  thy  sparkling  hours  depart, 

And  all  thy  hopes  be  withered  with  the  frost, 

And  every  effort  tempest- tost — 

So,  when  all  life's  green  leaves 
Are  fallen,  and  moldered  underneath  the  sod, 
Thou  shalt  go  not  too  lightly  to  thy  God, 

But  heavy  with  full  sheaves.  — Fertility. 


176  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Nowhere  is  the  influence  of  Christian  truth  and 
teaching  more  evident  than  in  our  author's  out 
look  upon  the  future.  Faith  in  immortality  is 
fresh  and  full  and  vigorous.  Death  is  luminous 
in  the  light  of  the  immortal  hope.  Life  is  explica 
ble  only  on  the  certainty  of  the  richer  life  to  come. 
We  may  not  hear  any  voice,  we  must  make  the 
journey  alone,  yet  the  only  permissible  mood  is 
the  mood  of  hope  and  faith  and  courage: 

Into  the  silent,  starless  Night  before  us, 

Naked  we  glide: 
No  hand  has  mapped  the  constellations  o'er  us, 

No  comrade  at  our  side, 

No  chart,  no  guide. 

Yet  fearless  toward  that  midnight,  black  and  hollow, 

Our  footsteps  fare: 
The  beckoning  of  a  Father's  hand  we  follow — 

His  love  alone  is  there, 

No  curse,  no  care.  — The  Future. 

Even  Nature  is  a  revelation  of  the  truth  of  the 
future.  The  God  who  cares  for  the  natural  world, 
who  speeds  the  planets  on  their  way,  who  garbs 
the  earth  with  beauty,  who  guides  the  "certain 
flight"  of  the  wood  and  water  fowl,  will  surely  be 
mindful  of  his  children.  All  this  he  believes — 
the  earth  whispers  and  the  heavens  sing  this 
truth : 

My  Comforters! — Yea,  why  not  mine? 
The  power  that  kindled  you  doth  shine, 
In  man,  a  mastery  divine; 


THINGS  OF  THE  SPIRIT  177 

That  Love  which  throbs  in  every  star, 
And  quickens  all  the  worlds  afar, 
Beats  warmer  where  his  children  are. 

The  shadow  of  the  wings  of  Death 
Broods  over  us;  we  feel  his  breath: 
"Resurgam"  still  the  spirit  saith.    — Starlight. 

That  personal  identity  is  not  lost;  that  immor 
tality  is  not  vague  and  shadowy,  but  clear  and 
definite,  is  the  firm  faith  of  Mr.  Sill.  In  that  future 
life  he  expects  to  know  and  to  be  known.  The 
things  that  we  see  are  only  half  the  truth,  and 
hardly  that.  Even  on  the  earth  and  in  time  the 
mightiest  forces  are  the  unseen,  and  the  deepest 
truths  are  those  that  we  must  accept  even  while 
we  do  not  comprehend  their  full  import.  To 
deny  the  eternal,  personal  life  because  we  do 
not  see  or  touch  it  is  to  do  violence  to  the 
very  principles  by  which  we  live  and  act  on 
the  earth: 

Because  he  never  conies  and  stands 

And  stretches  out  to  me  both  hands, 

Because  he  never  leans  before 

The  gate,  when  I  set  wide  the  door 

At  morning,  nor  is  ever  found 

Just  at  my  side  when  I  turn  round, 

Half  thinking  I  shall  meet  his  eyes, 

From  watching  the  broad  moon-globe  rise, — 

For  all  this,  shall  I  homage  pay 

To  Death,  grow  cold  of  heart,  and  say: 

"He  perished,  and  has  ceased  to  be; 

Another  comes,  but  never  he"? 

Nay,  by  our  wondrous  being,  nay! 


178  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Although  his  face  I  never  see, 
Through  all  the  infinite  To  Be, 
I  know  he  lives  and  cares  for  me. 

— The  Invisible. 

And  with  what  calm  and  confident  assurance 
does  he  accept  the  gospel  truth  that  heaven  is 
home — a  place  of  comfort  for  the  sorrowing,  rest 
for  the  weary,  peace  for  the  distracted,  shelter  for 
the  storm-tossed  and  wandering.  All  that  human 
thought  and  love  can  put,  even  by  deepest  and 
fullest  implication,  into  that  word  "home" — all 
this  and  more  than  this  he  realizes  as  the  essential 
characteristic  of  heaven : 

O  heart,  that  prayest  so  for  God  to  send 

Some  loving  messenger  to  go  before 

And  lead  the  way  to  where  thy  longings  end, 

Be  sure,  be  very  sure,  that  soon  will  come 
His  kindest  angel,  and  through  that  still  door 
Into  the  Infinite  love  will  lead  thee  home. 

— Home. 

But  best  of  all,  truest  and  strongest  of  all,  are  the 
verses  so  happily  named  "A  Morning  Thought." 
The  conception  is  beautifully  accordant  with  the 
Christian  thought  of  death  as  the  morning  of  a 
new  day,  and  surely  no  one  could  ask  for  finer  or 
more  melodious  phrasing.  The  very  essence  of 
Christian  faith  and  hope  is  here: 

What  if  some  morning,  when  the  stars  were  paling, 
And  the  dawn  whitened,  and  the  East  was  clear, 

Strange  peace  and  rest  fell  on  me  from  the  presence 
Of  a  benignant  Spirit  standing  near: 


THINGS  OF  THE  SPIRIT  179 

And  I  should  tell  him,  as  he  stood  beside  me, 

41  This  is  our  Earth — most  friendly  Earth,  and  fair; 
Daily  its  sea  and  shore  through  sun  and  shadow 

Faithful  it  turns,  robed  in  its  azure  air: 
"There  is  blest  living  here,  loving  and  serving, 

And  quest  of  truth,  and  serene  friendships  dear; 
But  stay  not,  Spirit!     Earth  has  one  destroyer — 

His  name  is  Death:  flee,  lest  he  find  thee  here!" 
And  what  if  then,  while  the  still  morning  brightened, 

And  freshened  in  the  elm  the  Summer's  breath, 
Should  gravely  smile  on  me  the  gentle  angel 

And  take  my  hand  and  say,  "My  name  is  Death." 

It  reminds  you  of  what  Zschokke  says  of  Death: 
"I  have  made  myself  so  familiar  with  this  last,  best 
friend  of  man  that  it  not  only  fails  to  frighten,  but 
it  comforts  and  gladdens  me." 

As  we  close  these  little  volumes  the  beautiful 
and  striking  poem  of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 
written  in  commemoration  of  Sill  comes  to  our 
mind  and  expresses  our  feeling,  our  sadness  and 
joy — sadness  at  his  departure,  joy  at  what  he  has 
left  us  of  himself.  Mr.  Aldrich  tells  us  that  he  was 
reading  a  letter  just  received  from  Mr.  Sill,  when 
the  lightning  flashed  the  tidings  of  his  death. 
Then  he  adds: 

I  wondered  what  it  was  that  died! 

The  man  himself  was  here, 
His  modesty,  his  scholar's  pride, 

His  soul  serene  and  clear. 
These  neither  death  nor  time  shall  dim, 

Still  this  sad  thing  must  be — 
Henceforth  I  may  not  speak  to  him, 

Though  he  can  speak  to  me! 


180  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Even  thus,  in  these  poems  touching  God,  and 
man,  and  destiny;  dealing  with  principle  and  prac 
tice,  thought  and  life,  here  and  hereafter;  filled  with 
faith,  and  hope,  and  love;  instinct  with  courage 
and  cheer,  he  being  dead  yet  speaketh  to  men  of 
to-day. 


AFTERWORD 

THE  SUPREMACY  OF  THE   SPIRITUAL 

THE  age  is  often  spoken  of  as  nonspiritual  and 
materialistic.  The  casual  observer  notes  surface 
currents  and  straightway  declares  that  the  dollar 
mark  is  the  national  ideal.  But  this  is  only  a 
superficial  view;  the  deeper  life  is  everywhere  pres 
ent,  and  in  this  day  is  making  itself  increasingly 
felt.  One  of  the  most  important  as  well  as  one  of 
the  most  helpful  tendencies  of  modern  life  is  the 
growing  sense  of  the  supremacy  of  the  spiritual. 

Commerce  and  civics  are  responding  to  the  finer 
ideals  of  this  higher  life.  The  revelations  and 
revolutions  in  these  spheres  of  activity  are  evi 
dences  of  the  vitality  of  the  life  of  the  Spirit.  It  is 
not  merely  by  chance  that  Gladstone,  McKinley, 
Hay,  and  Roosevelt,  the  foremost  figures  in  recent 
Anglo-Saxon  political  life,  are  also  eminent  as 
illustrations  of  the  molding  and  moving  power  of 
spiritual  ideals.  There  is  an  intimate  and  vital 
connection  between  statesmanship  and  spiritual 
vision.  The  application  by  the  late  Mr.  John 
Hay  of  the  golden  rule  to  the  world's  diplo 
macy  is  the  most  significant  and  striking  fact  in 
modern  statecraft. 

181 


182     THE  SUPREMACY  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL 

So  also  is  it  in  the  scientific  world.  The  bald, 
atheistic,  nonspiritual  theory  of  evolution  so  prev 
alent  a  few  years  since  is  no  longer  in  the  ascend 
ant.  Scientific  men  themselves  have  been  among 
the  first  to  point  out  its  incompleteness.  The 
"  survival  of  the  fittest "  may  serve  as  the  law  of 
the  jungle,  but  it  can  never  explain  humanity. 
Something  more  than  crude  selfishness  is  required 
in  anything  like  a  complete  analysis  of  mankind, 
and  the  spiritual  will  surely  be  an  element  in  this 
complete  and  final  accounting. 

And  certainly  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  we  have 
an  increasing  group  of  writers — in  prose  and  poetry 
— who,  in  this  active  and  miscalled  materialistic 
time,  are  emphasizing  the  value  of  the  spiritual. 
Illustrations  may  be  found  in  Van  Dyke,  Mabie, 
Wagner,  and  Brierley  among  the  essayists.  To 
read  them  is  to  find  proof  of  the  renaissance  of 
the  spiritual.  One  feels  that  Mabie  touches  fun 
damental  truth  when  he  writes,  "  No  dead  mechan 
ism  moves  the  stars,  or  lifts  the  tides,  or  calls  the 
flowers  from  their  sleep.  Truly  this  is  the  gar 
ment  of  the  Deity,  and  here  is  the  awful  splendor 
of  the  perpetual  Presence."  And  this  is  the  truth 
taught  by  the  singers  we  have  been  considering. 
They  are  not  deceived  by  appearances;  they  do 
not  mistake  the  surface  for  the  substance;  they  do 
not  substitute  matter  for  spirit.  With  Napoleon 


THE  SUPREMACY  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL      183 

they  hold,  "  You  can  only  govern  men  by  imagi* 
nation:  without  imagination  they  are  brutes.  .  .  . 
'Tis  by  speaking  to  the  soul  you  electrify  men." 
And  it  is  to  the  soul  that  these  singers  have  spoken, 
even  as  it  is  of  the  soul — its  possibilities  and 
achievements — that  they  have  sung.  Herein  lies 
their  value  to  this  age  and  to  every  age;  for  the 
supreme  question  still  is,  "  What  shall  it  profit  a 
man,  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his 
own  soul  ?"  And  the  chief  business,  for  the  indi 
vidual  and  for  the  universe,  in  time  and  through 
eternity,  is  just  this — the  development  of  the  soul. 

What  is  left  for  us,  save,  in  growth 
Of  soul,  to  rise  up,  far  past  both, 
From  the  gift  looking  to  the  giver, 
And  from  the  cistern  to  the  river, 
And  from  the  finite  to  infinity, 
And  from  man's  dust  to  God's  divinity? 


UNIIVER 

0 

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14  DAY  USE 
14  DAY  USE 

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Berkeley 


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